


Committed

by WordWeaver81



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 92,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordWeaver81/pseuds/WordWeaver81
Summary: AU. After being arrested in Bucharest, Bucky is committed to an "American psych facility" for treatment and to determine how dangerous he is. Warnings for dark themes, depictions of mental illness, mentions of suicide, descriptions of self-harm.





	1. Day 1

**Disclaimer: Just for fun, not for profit. This is Marvel's universe. I'm just playing with some of the characters.**

* * *

"We'll have Barnes taken to an American psych facility rather than a Wakandan prison." – Tony Stark

* * *

**Day 1**

The bars and reinforced glass on the high security vehicle they were transporting him in made it difficult to see his surroundings, but Bucky was somewhat reassured by the fact that it also made it tough for others to look in and see him. The hard plastic seat and the modified handcuffs that sent electrical impulses to keep his metal arm immobile didn't help to make him comfortable, but he wasn't anticipating comfort. Nobody spoke to him on the journey. He didn't really expect them to. The two deputies in the front seat spent the trip chatting about their home lives and bitching about their coworkers, while the one sitting facing him spent the ride with one hand on his gun. He'd learned more about the interoffice politics in the local sheriff's department than he really cared to. In his head, he'd dubbed them Larry, Curly and Moe. He'd also spent the long drive contemplating the events that got him there.

An errant housekeeper at the hotel that Helmut Zemo was staying at had ignored the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door and discovered the dead psychiatrist in the bathtub while Bucky was being transported to Berlin. The Sokovian hadn't even had a chance to look at him, much less use the trigger words, although the presence of the red book was still enough to make Bucky's gut churn. With the master plan revealed and Bucky's innocence in the Vienna bombing proven, the authorities were left with the question of what to do with him. He was too dangerous, they argued, to just be released. And just because he hadn't been in Vienna didn't exactly make him innocent of all his other crimes. Finally, they had struck a deal: Steve Rogers would sign the Accords in exchange for a pardon for James Buchanan Barnes, and he would go to an American psych facility rather than a prison somewhere. Steve had tried to argue for unconditional release, promising he would watch him, but even Tony Stark was hesitant to make that deal.

They pulled up to a nondescript brick building, and Curly and Moe got out to escort him inside. At the reception desk, a pretty blonde woman nodded at them.

"Here's the paperwork," Moe said, handing her a pile of legal documents three inches thick. Bucky eyed the stack of paper with a scowl. He had his own copy. The paperwork contained all the reasons why he was being committed to a forensic hospital – the reasons he was a danger to others and could not be allowed to remain free in society. He happened to agree, but that hadn't made it any easier to listen to in court. His lawyer had assured him that the proceedings were civil, not criminal, but that didn't help him to feel like less of a criminal as they were announced and discussed. Despite his request otherwise, Steve had been there for all of it, hearing his shame read aloud to all present. He spent most of the hearing staring down at his interlocked hands, metal fingers interwoven with flesh ones, and when they had given him the opportunity to speak on his own behalf, he had only shaken his head. That had been two days ago. Now he was standing in the entrance to the facility that would become his home – at least for the next six months. Then there would be another hearing, presumably to see if he was "safe" yet. He had his doubts the time would make any difference.

"He'll be going to Delta Unit," the pretty blonde said. "You can lock your guns up here. They aren't allowed on the units," she replied, sliding a lockbox across the desk. Moe frowned at her and shoved the lockbox away.

"We're not putting our firearms away, sweetheart," he told her.

"Then you can't go down to the unit," she replied coolly. "And I'm not your sweetheart." Moe shrugged.

"Then I guess once the nurse gets here, he's not our problem anymore," he responded. She leveled an exasperated look at him for a moment, then picked up the phone with a sigh.

"Yes, your admit's here," she said into the receiver. "They won't bring him down, so you'll have to come get him." She glanced over at Bucky. "So far he's been calm…. Okay." She hung up the phone and addressed Bucky directly. "The nurse will be here in a few minutes. You can sit down if you like." She gestured to one of the couches around the perimeter of the round entryway. Bucky considered it for a moment, but decided to remain on his feet.

"No, thank you," he said quietly. Her eyes widened slightly, and she shot him a furtive half-smile. He looked around the room, taking note of doors and windows. It was nicer than he had expected, but Siberia hadn't exactly set his expectations high. The double doors opposite the ones they had come in beeped, then opened. A slim woman with short brunette hair wearing navy blue scrubs opened the doors, flanked by two security guards. Both of them were average build, at least a couple inches shorter than Bucky, and if it came down to it he was pretty sure he could take them in a fight.

But he wasn't here to fight.

Curly deactivated the handcuffs, then unlocked them and tucked them into his belt. Bucky's shoulders relaxed visibly without the constant electrical current running through one arm. The brunette nurse smiled and nodded at him. "My name is Hannah, and I'll be the nurse getting you admitted today. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to the unit." She picked up the bag of his belongings – the back pack, the bugout bag, everything in the world that he still called his – and started back towards the door. She waved a small, rectangular card over a little square panel on the wall. The tiny light on it went from green to red, and it made the same beeping sound he had heard before. She pushed on the doors as she slipped the card back into her pocket. Bucky took note of this and followed her silently through the doors. He heard the automatic lock as they closed behind him, a sound with unnerving finality. At the base of the stairs was another set of double doors that Hannah opened in the same manner.

Once on the lower level, Hannah began a running commentary of everything they walked by. To his left was a set of windows overlooking a courtyard area, with trees and a few stone picnic tables, walking paths and a small basketball court. To his right, she pointed out doors leading to an exercise room, a gym and something called "The Mall." "General store is open Wednesday and Friday mornings, snack bar is open Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to noon, we have library time Monday, Wednesday and Friday in the afternoon, and the beauty shop is by appointment only, so you'll want to sign up on the unit for that. Oh, and the vending machines are always there. You'll have to earn your privilege level to go, though." An incentive economy, then. Bucky eyed the courtyard. The building was built around it, so it appeared to be closed off, but the one-story roof was low enough he could probably jump to it if he had to.

They reached the unit, and he was shown first to a tiny room with a bare floor, cinderblock walls and a heavy door that only had a handle on one side. He had been thinking maybe this wouldn't be so bad, but the tiny room set him on edge. He didn't want to be locked inside. Hannah explained it was just for a search, "for safety, to make sure you didn't smuggle anything in with you, checking for contraband." She held up a black rod about two feet long, and he flinched. Was it a weapon? Electrified? She caught the wince.

"Metal detector," she explained, waving it back and forth. He smiled grimly.

"Oh, that thing is not going to like me," he said softly, holding his arms out obediently. The rod shrieked as it came near his left side, then again on his head and his back. Hannah took a step back and looked him over. She handed him a set of green scrubs to change into and took his clothes.

"Remove your prosthesis, if you please," she requested. "We'll have to check with the doctor to see if you can have it on the unit." He blinked at her in confusion.

"You want me to do what?"

"Your prosthesis," she repeated. "Your arm. Remove it, please."

"It doesn't come off," he said. She looked at him skeptically.

"Are you sure?" she asked.  _No, lady, I've lived with it for longer than you've been alive, but it never occurred to me it might be able to come off._  Rolling his eyes, he pulled the scrub top back off and stood before her bare-chested.

"If you can figure out a way to do it, be my guest," he said in exasperation, raising his left arm out to the side. Her eyes widened, and she stood completely still for a moment, her shocked gaze traveling slowly over the gleaming appendage and the scarred seam where metal met flesh. He was surprised when she took a step forward, her fingers following the same path her eyes had, occasionally pressing on the scar tissue to search for a gap but finding none. He held very still as she stepped around him, her hands running along the plate embedded along what would have been his left shoulderblade. The touch was impersonal, but gentler than he had been expecting. She circled back to face him, her expression perplexed.

"Wait here," she said. "I think… I need to talk to my supervisor." She turned and left him in the tiny cement room, the security guards standing just outside, watching him. He debated whether he should bother putting the shirt back on or not. If she was bringing more people to stare at him, er, inspect him, then he would only have to take it off again. Instead, he draped it over his fleshy shoulder and folded his arms over his chest. The minutes ticked by, the two guards watching him carefully, the tile floor cold under his bare feet.

Hannah returned, bringing with her another woman dressed in slacks and a blouse – he assumed the aforementioned supervisor – and two other people, who hung back but peered through the doorway at him as the two women again inspected, poked and prodded at his metal arm. He stared back at the four sets of eyes watching him. A memory rose, unbidden, of him and Steve as boys, visiting the World Circus Sideshow at Coney Island, peering through the crowd at the freaks lined up for them to gawk at. He could almost hear the barker now.  _Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, to see the man with the metal arm! He can perform daring feats of strength and endure inhuman amounts of pain!_ Perhaps that was where he belonged now, right alongside the bearded Lady Olga and Forrest the armless wonder. He set his jaw and dropped his gaze to the floor as his inspection continued.

"Consult with the doctor, get an order for it," the supervisor finally decided. "I don't see that we have any options, though, really."

"You can go ahead and put your shirt back on," Hannah instructed. "I guess no MRIs for you, huh?" He glanced at her quizzically, not getting the reference, but obediently pulled the scrub top back over his head and followed her out of the room with a sense of relief. As they passed the nurse's station, he saw one of the staff going through his backpack full of belongings and paused.

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked.

"We have to go through everything that comes on the unit," he explained. His name badge said his name was Ted. "Things that are safe, you can keep. Some things you can have access to but you have to return them when you're done with them. Some things just aren't safe to be out on the unit at all. They get locked up in back, and you'll get them back when you're discharged."

"Which category do those fall into?" Bucky asked, nodding to the pile of notebooks and worn backpack sitting next to it. Ted shook his head.

"Backpack you can't have because of the straps. Notebook because of the spiral binding. You'll get them back when you leave." He felt a pang of disappointment, but wasn't entirely surprised.  _I could kill you with either of those things. I could kill you without them, too._ He glanced around the unit, eying the layout. Three hallways stretched away from the desk, studded with doors every few meters. At the end of each hall, an exit sign by a door and a window-encased lounge. Not far from the nurses' station was a large room with chairs and tables, surrounded by far too many windows. Beyond that, a parking lot and grass. The glass had some kind of wire embedded in it, presumably to make it stronger, but he doubted it would be much of a deterrent to his metal arm. Now that he had come up with several different escape plans and was confident he could leave if he wanted to, he relaxed slightly.

"If you'll come this way, we'll finish getting you admitted," Hannah said, clasping a pile of paperwork to her chest and gesturing with her head towards a room near the unit entrance. Through the many windows, he could see a long table with chairs around it. He followed her into the room and settled into one of the slightly uncomfortable chairs. "So… James, is it? Do you go by James, or Jim, or do you have something else you prefer to be called?" He contemplated Hannah's earnest expression for a moment. Nobody had asked him his preference in a long, long time. His friends – mainly Steve – called him Bucky, but he wasn't sure he was among friends here.

"James is fine," he said quietly. She nodded and shuffled through the forms and questionnaires in front of her. She paused for a moment, frowning down at something on one of them.

"Well, James, it looks like they may have made a mistake on your birthdate. Can you tell me the correct one?" she asked.

"What do they have written down?" he asked in return.

"Um, March 10th, 1917," she answered with a little laugh, as if inviting him to share in her amusement at the error.

"That's accurate," he said, and the smile slowly faded from her face as she stared at him.

"But… that would make you a hundred years old," she protested, almost more to herself than him.

"I was frozen for a lot of it," he offered. "If that helps." Her expression brightened.

"Oh! Like Captain America!" He scoffed a little.

"No, I… Well, I guess, yes. Like Captain America." The ghost of a smile flickered around the edges of his mouth. She shuffled through the papers again and picked up a pen, sitting poised to write.

"Okay. What is your reason for being here today?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Because I'm a danger to other people. Says so right there in the paperwork." She jotted something down on the paper.

"Any allergies?"

"No."

"Any medical concerns? Respiratory issues? Cardiac issues?"

"No."

"Any thoughts to harm others?" He stared at her. He always had contingency plans, how he could incapacitate someone if needed. It was ingrained at this point.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"Have you ever attempted suicide?" He blinked and looked down at the table.

_After several failed escape attempts that always ended with him returned to their facility and more lengthy torture sessions, after he had been fitted with the monstrous metal arm that would mark him forever as something not quite human, he had tried for the only method of escape he could see still open to him. Death was preferable to letting them turn him into a weapon for their own ends. Shivering in the cell they had locked him in with only a dirty mattress on a metal frame and a thin, ratty blanket, he had made his final escape attempt. There was no window, and the door was a heavy, reinforced monstrosity with no handle. The concrete walls were smooth and completely bare. They thought he was safely contained. They underestimated the ingenuity of James Buchanan Barnes. Braiding the shredded blanket into a rope, he tied one end to the metal leg he had snapped off the bed and the other in a noose around his neck. Jumping off the now-unstable bed frame, he had launched himself as high up the wall as he could, thrusting the metal leg into the wall with his left arm like a spear. It had stuck there, sunk deep into the concrete, and he felt a brief flash of triumph, before the slack ran out on the rope. The momentum of his body, augmented with over fifty pounds of metal arm, focused to a point on his neck, and darkness quickly enveloped him…_

_…only to be revived on a cold metal table, limbs restrained and Zola tut-tut-tutting over him like a disappointed parent._

_"You represent a significant investment of our resources, Sergeant Barnes. Surely you didn't think we would allow this sort of behavior? It seems your old memories are causing you some distress. Don't worry. It will become significantly easier once they are gone."_

_And then they wiped him; the first complete wipe where he had awakened not knowing who or where he was, or anything beyond the pain in his shoulder where the metal plate was imbedded and the throbbing inside his head. Took him apart like a jigsaw puzzle and then put him back together all jumbled up, twisted and wrong, adding pieces that weren't really him, taking away ones that were…_

"Not in a long time," he replied softly. There were nights he had considered it, after Steve reminded him of who he was. Nights when sleep eluded him, leaving him alone with the thoughts and the memories and the guilt of what he'd done. He'd sat at the table in his tiny apartment in Bucharest, gun gleaming dully between his hands, and contemplated putting an end to it all. He still wasn't sure why he hadn't. Sometimes, it seemed he could almost hear Steve's voice at the back of his mind, telling him to keep hanging on, not to let HYDRA win once and for all. And so he kept on. He glanced over at Hannah, who sat quietly, still watching him, waiting for… details? He looked away. She took the hint and moved on to the next question.

"Are you currently having thoughts to kill yourself, or harm yourself in any way?" It was never really all that far from his mind, the struggle between his self-preservation and the deeply-felt guilt and shame at the things he had done. Thus far, self-preservation had won.

"No." It wasn't exactly a lie. Right now, he had a lot of other things on his mind. The unfamiliar place filled with unfamiliar people, the knowledge that he was locked in with all of them, that legally now he was supposed to stay here… None of these things were exactly reassuring.

"How's your appetite?" A shrug. He had learned long ago to ignore hunger, to eat only to fuel his body. The serum had increased his metabolism, so it was important that he eat, but it was also important to not let hunger distract him.

"How do you sleep?"

"Usually, lying down." It was a luxury for him now, after so many times being sent to cryosleep standing up. Her chuckle caught him off guard. He'd mostly just been trying to dodge the question, but apparently, he'd made a joke.

"No, I mean… Do you have any trouble falling asleep? Staying asleep? Do you wake up feeling rested?" Yes, yes and no. He certainly wasn't ready to describe the nights lying in bed, staring at the ceiling as his slowly surfacing memories replayed decades of carnage in his head. Missions gone wrong, hell, missions gone right, dead eyes staring at him, pleading voices begging for their lives, red blood splattered everywhere, invisibly staining his hands… then letting sleep claim him, and everything starting over in his dreams, only this time with stunning color and details, waking in a cold sweat, chest heaving.

"No." She looked for a moment as if she was going to pry more, to ask which question that was an answer to, but then shook her head slightly and moved on to the next one.

"Do you drink? Alcohol?" The last word was tagged on, added hastily in anticipation of his response. He shook his head.

"Doesn't do anything for me. Too expensive anyway."

"Do you use any other chemicals? Street drugs? Heroin, cocaine, marijuana, methamphetamines?" HYDRA had, for their part, used many different cocktails on him throughout the decades, but he had never known what was in them. He had felt pretty rough after he had left, for a long time. Withdrawal symptoms, someone had mentioned once. Not rough enough to try to find something to take the pain away.

"No."

"Are you sexually active?" The question caught him off guard, and he looked at her sharply. Her expression was carefully neutral, and she didn't seem to be making a pass at him. "These are standard questions," she reassured him. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Not lately," he grunted, grudgingly answering the query.

"Male or female partners?" came the next question.

"Is that relevant?" he asked with raised eyebrows. Hannah met his gaze coolly.

"It's part of your social history," she informed him.

"Female," he answered, eyeing her warily. What was next? Was she going to ask him about masturbation habits? Personal fantasies?

"That's the last of the really personal questions," she reassured him. He took a deep breath, letting himself relax incrementally. This turned out to be a mistake, as the next question caught him off guard.

"Do you have any pain?" Hannah asked. His expression became wary. The last time someone had asked him if he was experiencing pain – long, long ago – their only purpose was to taunt and inflict more. During his training and torture, responding to pain was seen as weakness, and any acknowledgement of it was punished. Her question seemed like a trap.

"Why?" he asked cautiously. She smiled at him.

"We always ask about pain, because if you have any, we want to help you keep it to a manageable level." She studied him for a moment. "I can't imagine that metal arm is comfortable to wear. It must be very hard on your back." Muscles had long ago adapted, and the constant fire along his spine was something he had learned to ignore. It was easier to ignore it.

"Nothing I can't handle," he said, looking back down at his folded hands. Hannah looked as if she might try to argue with him, but then shrugged and turned the paper over. The rest of the questions were mostly about his living situation, learning preferences, information about the unit. She then showed him to his room. It was nicer than he'd expected. A desk with a chair and drawers, a captain's style bed, a closet that was basically a tall cubby, and an adjoining bathroom with a shower. The window was tall but narrow, with blinds set between two panes of glass. Hannah left with the promise to check in with him later. It took a few moments for him to find the little dial on the window that closed the blinds inside the glass, shielding him from outside eyes. Taking a deep breath, he sat down on the bed, looking around at the room that was to be his… well, home of a sort, at least for the next few months. It had been a long time since there had been anything in his life that felt like home. Bucharest had probably come closest, but even there he was always looking over his shoulder, waiting for HYDRA to find him again, waiting for someone to recognize him. Waiting for the day when his cover was blown, and he would have to face what he had done.

And now here he was. If this is was to be his purgatory, it certainly was… not what he'd expected. The walls were painted a soft ivory, trimmed with a blue stripe around the ceiling. The floor was carpeted. The room was small and impersonal, but somehow cozy. It didn't feel like a hospital, at least not what he remembered of hospitals.

"Mr. Barnes?" He looked over to the doorway, and his heart began to pound. White lab coat, white lab coats meant pain and forgetting and darkness and cold. He didn't even realize he'd backed up against the wall, muscles tensed and eyes wide. The man in his doorway disappeared, and he started to relax, unclenching hands that had balled into fists. A man appeared a moment later – was it the same man? He had no white lab coat. Bucky focused this time on his face, and found the man had a kind expression, with eyes that saw a person, not a weapon. "Mr. Barnes, my name is Dr. Greenmyer. Do you have a few minutes to meet with me?" He had six months, according to the court. But he had nothing else to do at the moment, so he followed the doctor into a small meeting room. This room had more comfortable chairs, and no table. He settled in, eyeing the doctor warily.

"You aren't required to answer any question you don't feel comfortable with, James. Do you mind if I call you James? But keep in mind, the more honest with me you are, the better I can help you."  _Do I deserve to be helped?_ More questions. Some of them were the same questions Hannah had asked, so he was at least somewhat prepared for that. The questions about his childhood caught him off guard, partially because he couldn't answer some of them, and partially because he really didn't see them as relevant.  _I know why my brain is broken, and it isn't because my father wasn't affectionate enough._ He kept his answers short, but truthful. There was no point in hiding anymore. The doctor had him count backwards from 100 by sevens, repeat some words, follow some simple directions, remember the words. He did not have any trouble with this.  _At least the short term memory is intact._ He wondered what it was the doctor was writing down.

"What do you remember from your time as prisoner of HYDRA?" Dr. Greenmyer asked. Bucky looked at him, then looked away. "We don't need to get into details," the doctor said, his tone reassuring. "You can talk about whatever you are comfortable with. I have quite a bit of collateral information from S.H.I.E.L.D. They felt it would be important for me to be familiar with your history in order to come up with an effective treatment. I'm not asking you to tell me about the traumatic things you experienced. I simply am trying to gauge how much of your memory has returned."

"I remember…a lot of it," Bucky admitted. "Most of it is kind of... fuzzy. Jumbled. Blood. Pain. Killing." He heard the quaver in his voice, swallowed down the lump that had appeared, tried to focus on something else. "Steve… I remember Steve." Those memories were a little sharper than others. He had pages and pages in the notebooks that had been swept away into a secret locker in the back.  _He was a scrawny little bastard that couldn't walk away from a fight. Then he was a big, strong bastard who still couldn't walk away from a fight. Got into bigger fights. He saved me from Zola. He saved me from myself. I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him._

"Do you feel safe here?" Dr. Greenmyer asked next.

"I don't feel safe anywhere," Bucky responded, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you worried that someone is going to try to hurt you again?"

"Can't rule it out," he mumbled, glancing out the window.

"Are you worried that you might harm someone else?"

"Can't rule that out either." The carpet in the room had threads of reds, browns and yellows, he noted, studying the patch of it between his feet.

"Do you hear voices that other people seem not to? See things that others don't seem to see?" He glanced up at the doctor and shook his head. "So, no command hallucinations. Why are you worried that you might harm someone?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone."

"I can see that. So why would you be concerned that you might?" Bucky was silent for a long moment, debating whether or not to reveal this particular truth to this particular doctor.

"Who do you work for?" he finally asked. Dr. Greenmyer seemed surprised to have a question directed at him.

"The state of New York," he answered. Bucky continued to regard him somewhat suspiciously. "I can assure you, James, I am not a secret agent. I do not work for HYDRA. Or for S.H.I.E.L.D., for that matter." Bucky sat back in the chair, folding his flesh arm over the metal one.

"But that's probably what an agent of HYDRA would say anyway, isn't it?" he pointed out. Dr. Greenmyer looked at him for a moment, then to his surprise, chuckled.

"I'm not expecting you to trust me right away, James. I suspect you've had no reason to trust anyone for a very long time." He regarded Bucky with a thoughtful expression for a long moment. "Tell me, have you ever taken any medication?"

"Nothing I'd like to repeat." Needles full of mysterious fluids, injected into his unwilling body, sometimes bringing pain, sometimes hallucinations, sometimes compliance, sometimes blessed temporary oblivion.

"Do you know what you've tried?"

"No." It wasn't that he'd forgotten, not this time. They'd never bothered telling him.

"Okay. I'm going to prescribe a medication called Zoloft. It can help with depression symptoms, anxiety, and PTSD symptoms." Bucky didn't say anything, but frowned. "PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder," Dr. Greenmyer explained. "In your day, I believe they called it Combat Stress Reaction or battle fatigue. In World War I, it was called Shell Shock. We don't use those terms anymore. We know more about it. And we have better treatments for it. The medication can help with the hyperarousal, insomnia, irritability, those kinds of things."

"I'm not a fan of needles," Bucky said shakily.

"Oh, it doesn't come in an injectable form," Dr. Greenmyer replied. "Just a pill. It works best if you take it every day. Usually takes four to six weeks for full effect, but we can see how you're doing after a couple weeks and adjust the dose if you want to. I also would encourage you to go to groups, get used to being around… people. We also have an excellent therapist on staff. I don't usually refer patients to her because a couple months isn't long enough to develop a therapeutic relationship and make any real progress, but in your case, I think it might be helpful." Bucky stared at him, unconvinced. Dr. Greenmyer stood. "I will be meeting with you regularly while you are here. If you have any questions before I see you again, let the nurses know. They can get a message to me." Bucky nodded slightly, and Dr. Greenmyer left. Bucky sat for a few minutes in the room, surprised that they had left him alone and unsupervised. There were a couple other patients wandering up and down the hall, occasionally peering in the window at him. He grew uncomfortable enough to leave the little lounge and return to his room. He had just gotten there when Hannah appeared in the doorway. Even though the door was open, she stopped outside and knocked. He looked inquiringly over at her.

"I brought you a journal," she offered, holding it out towards him. "No spiral binding, so you can have this one on the unit." He raised his eyebrows and took the journal. It was nothing fancy; just a thicker weight paper bound around simple lined pages. Despite the simplicity, it was now all he had, and he appreciated it.

"Thank you," he said quietly. She nodded.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked. He shook his head, still looking through the blank pages of his new journal. She left. He noted her departure, but most of his attention was still trained on the precious diary. He hadn't had access to anything to write with since his desperate escape attempt in Bucharest, and much had happened since then. He sat down and began to write.

* * *

He kept track of the distractions in the back of his mind. Every fifteen minutes or so, give or take about ten, someone poked their head in his room, saw that he was there, and made a mark on the clipboard they carried. Mostly he was able to ignore them. Nobody spoke to him again until several hours later, when a petite girl wearing scrubs and badge that said her name was Michelle informed him it was time for supper. He set his pen down and ventured out of the room. He could smell food, and his stomach growled, reminding him how long it had been since he had eaten a proper meal. He reached the common room, where they were handing out trays.

"Barnes, James Barnes," the girl by the tray cart read off.

"Here," he said quietly, coming up next to her. She jumped as if she hadn't noticed him before he was beside her, and held his tray out. He took it with a frown. Some kind of meat, mashed potatoes with what he assumed was gravy over the top. Green beans. Pudding. Plastic cutlery. Institutional food at its finest. But he was in no position to be picky, and he was hungry. There were only a few tables available, and most of them were already occupied. Some of the other patients were eating on the seats in front of the television, the trays balanced on their laps. There were a few seats in the far corner that remained empty. He chose one in the middle, putting as much space as he could between himself and everyone else. He had just started to eat when someone abruptly plopped down in the seat right next to his. A woman who appeared to be in her early to mid twenties grinned at him speculatively, though there was a slightly unstable gleam in her eyes that made him even more uncomfortable than her proximity did.

"Hi, I'm Megan," she introduced herself, though she didn't stop to hear what his name was before rambling on. "You're cute. Way cuter than most of the people here. Do you have a girlfriend? I have a boyfriend, but we're kind of broken up right now. We had a fight on the phone a couple hours ago and he still hasn't called me back. I hate it when he doesn't call back, you know? Like, he knows I'm bipolar but he still picks these fights with me over really stupid things, like me calling his mom a bitch, and then we fight on the phone and I hang up on him but he's supposed to call me back so we can work it out, you know? But he hasn't yet so I guess we're broken up for now. Maybe he'll call back tomorrow. But anyways, maybe you and I could…" Her words came tumbling out, almost seeming to trip over each other in their haste to be heard, and he wasn't certain that she had even paused to take a breath. She was leaning against him, practically sitting in his lap, and he suddenly decided that it was a much better idea to eat his tray in his room, where it was quiet. Standing up, he exited the dayroom. He could still hear her chattering behind him, as if he hadn't even left.

He'd half expected to get in trouble for bringing his food to his room, but they didn't say anything about it to him, and just collected the empty tray after he was done. He went back to writing in the journal. A couple times, one of the staff poked their head into his room and mentioned a group that was going on, but he didn't much feel like leaving the relative safety and peace of his room. There was no clock here, but eventually the noises in the hall and on the unit tapered off, and he decided it was time to sleep. He lay in bed for a long time, staring up at the ceiling and pondering what his life had become. Eventually, sleep came.


	2. Day 2

His sleep was not restful, coming in fits and starts. The fifteen minute checks were relentless, and he jerked awake multiple times at the sound of footsteps outside his door. Light flashed briefly inside the room as the staff person used a flashlight to see if he were still awake or not. He tried putting a pillow over his head, tried reassuring himself that he was in a supposedly safe place, but he remained unconvinced and awake. By the time the sky began to lighten, he gave up and blearily sat, resigned to the fact that sleep was not happening tonight. He got up and decided to avail himself of the shower. It took him a few minutes to figure out how to operate it, since there were no knobs to turn or levers to pull. When he finally coaxed the spray out of the spigot, it was ice cold, sending him flying back out of the shower with a half-stifled oath. He stood, shivering and wet, until the shower ran out. Well, at least he was awake now.

When he started the water again, it was marginally warmer, so he took advantage. It progressively heated up until it went from tolerable to enjoyable. The shower in his apartment in Bucharest had terrible water pressure, the trickle that was barely enough to cut through the dirt and grime after a day of hard labor that earned him enough cash to pay rent and feed himself. This shower was a great improvement over that, at least once the water warmed up.

He was toweling off when the door opened after a perfunctory knock. He had been expecting it, so he just wrapped the towel around his waist and swung the bathroom door mostly shut.

"James?" The unfamiliar voice called. He poked his head out the door, hair still dripping. His right shoulder and arm were visible, but not much else. The aide's eyes widened slightly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Ah, um…" She closed her mouth for a second and swallowed, then tried again. "When you're done, can you come get your vital signs taken? Since you're up already?"

"Sure. Just give me a few minutes."

"Sure, yeah. Um, take your time." She was already backing up as she spoke, then turned and almost ran out of the room. Slightly bemused, he returned his attention to toweling off. He didn't have any clean clothes; he had only the scrubs they made him wear yesterday and the clothing he had been wearing when he was arrested. The scrubs weren't awful, but he was used to wearing more layers than that, and the thin cloth made him feel rather exposed. He put his old, dirty clothes back on, promising himself he would wash them tonight. Feeling more covered, he brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair before venturing out on the unit.

"Right this way, James." The aide flagged him down from just outside a small conference room. Her name badge said her name was Kari. He wandered in that direction, and she gestured to a chair beside her. Just a regular chair, nothing special about it. No torture equipment, no metal shackles… he wasn't sure why it still made him feel a little uncomfortable. "Have a seat," Kari encouraged. Taking a deep breath, he sat. She busied herself around him, and he looked down in surprise as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his left arm. He was pretty sure that wasn't going to tell her anything, but he kept his peace. He felt the cuff tighten around his metal upper arm and glanced in unsurprise at the machine when it beeped and gave an error message. "Huh." Kari sounded puzzled. "I'm not getting a reading. Let me try one more time."

"I don't think trying again is going to make a difference," he said dryly, pushing back his sleeve. "There's no blood in that arm." Kari blinked at the dully gleaming metal.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed. "Can we try the other arm, then?" Bucky pushed up his right sleeve obligingly.

* * *

He adjusted his sleeves back down as he exited the room and looked around the unit. It was still quiet; most of the others must still be sleeping. The nurses and aides were still lingering in the back, chatting over cups of coffee as they sorted through charts and discussed the day ahead of them. He caught a few furtive glances his way.

"Did you want some breakfast?" He glanced over to see Kari again. She gestured to the kitchenette and the dayroom. "I mean, technically we don't usually start serving for another twenty minutes, but I can open it up if you want to grab something."

"Sure." The idea of being able to eat in peace, before anyone else was up, was definitely appealing. She opened the door for him. The selection was… institutional. A variety of half-cup portions of breakfast cereal, some bananas, hard boiled eggs, half-pints of milk. He took a tray and contemplated how much he could get away with taking. He was hungry enough he could probably eat half of everything present, but it was likely rationed for all the patients on the unit. He settled for one of everything, then took a second egg as his stomach growled.

"Want some coffee?" Kari offered. "I can get you some." He nodded, and she vanished into the back of the kitchenette, then reappeared with a cup of steaming hot coffee.

"Thanks," he said softly. She smiled brilliantly at him. He settled into a chair at one of the tables and devoured his breakfast briskly and efficiently. He still was uneasy about being out in the open for too long, especially considering this room had far too many windows for his liking. Outside the windows, the sun was starting to rise and the sky to brighten. He finished the last of his coffee and returned his tray. He was heading back to his room when one of the nurses called out from behind the desk.

"You must be James," she remarked. He stopped and looked at her more closely, trying to decide if he had seen her before, but her face was unfamiliar. Her name badge informed him that her name was Samantha.

"How do you know my name?" he asked warily. She half-smiled.

"You're a new face," she pointed out. "Only one new name in my MAR book. Do you want to take your morning meds now?"

"My what?" Bucky's confusion was genuine.

"Your medications. Your pills."

"I don't take any pills."

"Oh, really?" she flipped open the chart in front of her. "Looks like the doctor prescribed you some Zoloft. Do you want that now?" Now that she mentioned it, he did vaguely remember the doctor mentioning something about that. He shrugged. She gestured to a little window to the side of the nurses station. "Come on around." Obediently, he presented himself in front of the glass. "Name and birthdate," she intoned.

"I thought you already knew my name," he replied. She shrugged.

"Yeah, but I still have to ask. Make sure I'm giving the right pills to the right person." He squared his shoulders and sighed.

"James Buchanan Barnes, March Tenth, 1917." She did a double take, glancing from him to the MAR and back again before gathering herself and placing a cup with a little blue pill in it on the ledge under the window. He picked it up and looked at it carefully. He remembered what the doctor had said, but he couldn't be sure that it was completely benign. He also couldn't be entirely sure that it was what the doctor had said. He looked at it carefully for a long minute, but couldn't bring himself to take it. He shook his head and set it back down on the ledge. "No, thank you."

"The doctor thinks it will help," Samantha encouraged him. He shook his head.

"No, thank you." He was starting to feel vaguely itchy and needed to retreat to his room, away from prying eyes and well-intended questions. He felt his unease dissipate as he closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he sat down at his desk and picked up his pen.

* * *

He remained vaguely aware of the passage of time, of the level of noise outside his door rising, of the staff pausing outside his door every fifteen minutes, give or take five or ten, knocking and opening it. He pushed down the feelings of irritation and concentrated on his writing. He had a feeling it was going to be a long six months…

The next knock that came was a little less tentative, and the door opened to reveal another new face.

"Time for morning meeting," the staff person announced unceremoniously. "Starts in the dayroom in five minutes." The door closed again. Bucky set down his pen and sighed. He truly had no desire to go and sit in a group of strangers with no idea of what the group entailed. On the other hand, the doctor had said to go to groups. The doctor was the one who would be making the report to the courts. If he wanted to be able to leave this place, he might have to at least attempt to play their game. He should try the group at least. He could always leave if things went south. Bracing his hands on the desk, he stood up reluctantly and left the safety of his room to venture into uncertain territory.

The dayroom was certainly more crowded than he had seen it before. He counted twelve people seated in the heavy, padded chairs. He recognized Megan, but nobody else aside from Kari, who was seated with a clipboard in front of her. There were only a couple empty seats, but he chose the one further away from Megan. She smiled brightly and waved at him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked away.

"Good morning, everyone." He looked up to see a tall woman with blonde hair enter the room and seat herself at the front of the room. "Welcome to morning meeting. First, let's go around and have everyone introduce themselves. I'll start. I'm the program therapist, and my name is Laura." She glanced at the man sitting to her left.

"Travis," he grunted. He was a broad-shouldered man, well-muscled and bald, with dark skin and hazel eyes. He offered no more, just looked at the next person to his left.

"Alec," was a blond man with a familiar, smug expression that set Bucky on edge. Next to him was Rob, who had dark spiky hair and a perpetual smirk. Kara was a mousy little girl with disheveled hair, stained scrubs and a slightly glazed expression. Next to her was Celie, a too-thin woman with hair an unnatural shade of green and a row of orderly scars marching along her forearms. Sitting in the next row, Tim was a heavily tattooed man with a face that looked like a smile might crack it right in half. Anna sat next to him but seemed preoccupied, looking up at the corner of the room with interest, although Bucky couldn't see anything there. A sleepy looking man with a full beard in a too-small shirt mumbled, "Francis." The one nearest Bucky was a slight, unassuming man with a distracted expression. He announced his name as Dominic, then glanced sideways at Bucky, who cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Ah… My name is James. But I go by Bucky." He wasn't sure why he decided to tell everyone his sobriquet. Maybe because he'd been called James since he arrived and it still didn't sit quite right. Maybe a sudden desire to define himself rather than letting others define him for once. He wasn't really sure of his reasons, but he half-regretted it in the next moment as Alec burst out laughing.

"Bucky?" he repeated tauntingly. "What the hell kind of name is that? What are you, a fuckin' hillbilly?"

"Jesus, Alec, leave the guy alone! Why do you always have to be such a fucking asshole?" Megan yelled at him from across the room before Bucky had a chance to respond.

"At least I'm not a fuckin' crazy-ass whore," Alec retorted. Bucky noticed the staff that weren't already in the dayroom start to move in that direction as their voices grew louder.

"Hey, hey, hey, let's settle down, everyone," Laura called out, raising her voice to be heard over their arguing. "Alec, that was really uncalled for. Please apologize. Megan… please watch the language." There was a tense moment, Alec clenching his jaw as if debating whether to punch someone. Folding his arms over his chest, he slouched back in his chair.

"Pfft, like hell I'm going to apologize," he muttered, but did not appear ready to escalate things further. Laura gave him a stern look, but he just looked back defiantly.

"Maybe you should read us the unit guidelines, to refresh them in your memory?" she prodded, gesturing to a large poster hanging on the wall. Bucky read them silently to himself. They seemed like something that would be more appropriate to a schoolhouse. Most of them were admonishments to treat each other with respect and respect each other's space and privacy, the details spelled out in different ways. No touching others. No going into others' rooms. No profanity. Keep language respectful. Group attendance encouraged. Clean up after yourself. No phone calls during groups. Television off at group times. Apparently here, these reminders were needed. Alec huffed again and shook his head.

"It's okay," Bucky said quietly. His skin was starting to crawl being around so many people anyway. "I'll just leave, so there won't be a problem."

"No, that's not necessary," Laura protested, but Bucky was already standing and walking out of the room. He heard Megan calling after him, too, but she didn't exactly entice him to go back into the fray. He'd had about enough of people for one day, and it was only nine o'clock.

* * *

Laura knocked on his door about twenty minutes later. He glanced over at her, then away.

"How are you doing?" she asked, and he glanced at her again. The way they asked that question here was entirely different than the traditional American greeting. She said it like she cared to know the answer.

"I'm fine," he said flatly. He was no less fine than he had been when he got here. Or this morning. Which was to say, entirely not fine, but he didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do about it.

"Do you mind meeting with me to answer a few questions?" she asked. He considered the question for a long moment. He wanted to say he didn't mind, but right now he couldn't bring himself to leave the room again. He also wasn't certain he could take more intrusive questions.

"Maybe tomorrow," he said softly. She paused and nodded.

"Okay, Bucky. I'll see you tomorrow." He looked down, reconsidering whether he should force himself to do it anyway, but when he looked up again, she was gone.

* * *

He didn't leave his room again the rest of the morning. The discomfort of being confined to the tiny room was more tolerable than the intense unease he felt venturing out on the unit and feeling all the eyes on him. His staff continued their predictable routine, checking on him every fifteen minutes, occasionally encouraging him to come out and try a group. He mostly ignored them. The notebook Hannah had given him was already a third full, but he stared at the page in front of him and the words seemed to stall. He set down the pen and stood, pacing the room. He could hear voices and conversations out in the hallway, which did not entice him to venture out. With a sigh, he lay down on the bed. He wasn't tired, but there wasn't much else to do in the small space. He stared at the ceiling, not really seeing the stark white surface. A knock at his door drew his attention, and he looked over to see an older, heavyset woman in the doorway.

"Lunch is here," she announced. He nodded his head in acknowledgement. She left. He got up and went back to the dayroom, where they were handing out trays. He claimed his, then brought it back to his room, making as little eye contact with anyone else as possible.

* * *

The day was growing long, but Bucky was a patient man. He paced the room some more. He did push ups and sit ups. He wrote more in his notebook. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking. He paced the room. Hannah came in the mid-afternoon, after her shift started. She knocked on his door, as the others had, but did not quickly move on.

"Heard you had a rough morning," she said. He shrugged.

"Wasn't looking for a fight," he replied. She nodded understanding.

"Are you doing okay now?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Not really in a hurry to go back out there," he admitted.

"Look, if Alec hassles you again, just let me know, okay? I'll get him to back off," she promised. He glanced at her doubtfully. She was not an intimidating figure, standing all of five feet four inches by his most generous estimate, and slight.

"I can take care of myself," he said with a slight smirk. She nodded.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," she assured him. "But you told me you're not here to fight. Right?" Mutely, he nodded. He thought Alec was more bluster than an actual threat, but he also had to weigh the satisfaction of punching his smarmy face against the reports that would no doubt be presented to the judge. "Look, if you're more comfortable staying in here for now, that's fine. Maybe try pushing yourself to go to one group tomorrow. Then one more the next day…" She shrugged slightly. "You don't have to jump right in, but getting your toes wet might not be a bad idea."

"Maybe," Bucky hedged. She seemed satisfied with that answer.

"Anything I can get for you, to help you feel more comfortable?" she asked. He definitely wasn't used to people being concerned about his comfort.

"Maybe another set of scrubs," he said hesitantly. Despite his shower that morning, he could barely stand the smell of himself. His one set of clothing had survived fighting with the German police and a man in a panther costume, running through Bucharest, then being on lockdown for the drive to Berlin, the three days they had deliberated what to do with him, and the flight back to the United States. It had survived, but it was a little worse for wear. She nodded and left, stopping by again a few minutes later and silently dropping off a clean set of scrubs on his bed. After she left, he closed the door and changed into the scrubs, bringing his filthy clothes into the bathroom.

In Bucharest, his building had a washer and dryer in the basement that were broken more often than not. He often heard others complaining about them, but he had never attempted to use them. He had gotten into the habit of simply washing the few clothes he owned by hand. Sometimes it would trigger memories for him: watching his mother scrub clothes in a tub in their small apartment, lines of clothing fluttering in the sky between buildings, the rough feel of wet fabric under his fingers. This bathroom was definitely not set up for it: the sink basin was too shallow, the soap was the wrong consistency, the controls were finicky, and the water turned off randomly. He made do. It was a little frustrating trying to find enough places to hang the clothes to dry. There weren't hooks or knobs anywhere, and even the shower was smooth and angled so nothing could really catch on it. His frustration lessened slightly as he realized the reason behind the design. But it still left him with dripping wet shirt and jeans in hand with nowhere to hang them.

"Are you… washing your clothes by hand?" He turned to see an aide looking at him with wide eyes. Her name badge said her name was Sarah. He wasn't sure if she hadn't knocked, or if he hadn't heard her. He raised the wet clothes as well as his eyebrows.

"Um… yes?" There wasn't really any point in denying it. Sarah smiled at him.

"You know we have a washer and dryer, right?" she asked with a grin.

"Ah, no. That wasn't mentioned," he said uncomfortably.

"Just let me finish doing rounds, and I'll let you in to get a load started," she offered. He nodded, and she disappeared out his door. He wrung the water out of his clothes the best he could, then carried the small armful out to the nursing station.

"Are you looking to get into the washing machine?" An aide who wasn't Sarah asked him. He nodded, and she shrugged. "I can let you in." She got her keys out and unlocked a door to a small room next to the dayroom. He stepped through and contemplated the machine. He'd never used one before; never watched anyone use one. Given enough time, he could probably figure it out, but there was a window looking into the room and he could already feel eyes on him.

"Do you think you could…" he half turned toward the aide who had unlocked the door, but she was already shaking her head.

"Nuh-uh. I'm not your mama, and I'm not your maid. You can do it," she replied. He gave her a look of consternation, but she was already walking away. Closing the door, he shut himself in the room and glared at the washing machine. There were four different dials, all with different settings. He reached for the largest one, then drew his hand back, uncertain if that was right.

"You look perplexed," Sarah observed from the doorway. He glanced over at her, embarrassed.

"I haven't… used a machine like this one before," he admitted.

"Yeah, you'd think they'd standardize them by now, but every one is different," she agreed. Stepping closer to the machine, she pointed. "You have a small load, so turn that dial to small, leave those two, set that one to Regular. Pull the knob out to start it. Then push that button on the wall for soap." Bucky followed her directions with relief. It was simple enough, once you knew what you were doing.

"Then what?" he asked.

"Then you go do something else for forty-five minutes or so, then make sure to come back and move it to the dryer," she concluded.

"I think I can handle that," Bucky remarked softly, mostly to himself. Sarah nodded.

"I'm sure you can," she said cheerfully. Bucky glanced through the window and saw Alec staring at him.

"See you in about forty-five minutes then," he said. He exited the tiny laundry room hastily and retreated back to the safety of his own room.


	3. Day 5

For the next couple days, Bucky rarely left his ten by ten room. He left to get his meals but returned to his room to eat them. He met with Dr. Greenmyer again. The psychiatrist met with him each day, asked about his sleep and other symptoms, talked about why he wasn't attending groups or taking the medication. Or Dr. Greenmyer talked. Bucky tended to answer the questions as briefly as possible. If the doctor was frustrated by Bucky's lack of cooperation, he didn't let on. Bucky did try to be more cooperative. He met with Laura again when she asked. Her assessment was more mystifying to him than the others, full of questions about coping skills and hobbies, how he managed his anger and other things that, for the most part, he really didn't know how to answer. He also met with a woman named Claire, who told him she was going to be his social worker and asked questions about education, work history, benefits and sources of income. She was very young, fresh-faced and enthusiastic, with ridiculously curly hair and an interview style peppered with both questions and observations that were both entertaining and exhausting. Her face lit up when he told her yes, technically he was a veteran, but no, he hadn't applied for benefits. She left him with promises to get all those pieces in place for him and make calls on his behalf. He returned to his room. He still couldn't bring himself to go to groups. He continued to respectfully decline to take the medication the doctor had prescribed. The fact that nobody tried to force him to take it was reassuring, but not enough to sway him to take it. The brief contact with staff members every fifteen minutes was more human interaction than he'd had in years, and he was still getting used to it. He was starting to learn all their names, though. Their faces were starting to become familiar, although he wasn't certain yet if that was a comfort or distressing.

His morning routine was becoming consistent. He was usually up before the sun, so he could get in a few hundred push-ups and sit-ups before they opened the kitchen for breakfast. After he ate, he usually showered, then sat down to journal. He had almost filled the journal that Hannah had given him. He would have to ask her for another one the next time she worked.

"James?" He looked up to see a new face standing in the doorway. She grimaced after a heartbeat. "Wait, no, the nurses said you prefer Bucky. I'm Deborah. Dr. Greenmyer referred me to work with you while you're here." Bucky raised his eyebrows at her but made no comment. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Why don't we go meet in the room at the end of the hall, where we'll have some privacy?" He shrugged and stood up. Relief replaced the uncertainty on her face, and she smiled at him. It didn't take long to settle into the visiting room. Bucky sat with his back to the wall, facing the windows. He folded his arms over his chest and waited while Deborah organized her paperwork on her clipboard. She finally set it aside, crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap and turned her full attention on him. "Thanks for meeting with me. Um, for the first session, I usually like to try to set some goals for therapy. Do you have any thoughts about what you would like to get out of these sessions?" Bucky shrugged.

"The doctor recommended them. I'm here regardless, so…" he let his sentence fade without completing it. Deborah contemplated him for a moment.

"Bucky, I know you aren't here by your own choice," she said measuredly. "But while you're here, wouldn't it be a good thing to get some help for yourself? Get something out of it, even if this isn't where you want to be?" He frowned at her.

"Help?" he repeated blankly. He'd managed to escape HYDRA and exist for two years under the radar without any help from anyone. He couldn't imagine what kind of help she meant. But she nodded earnestly, as if it should be obvious.

"I've read your file," she reminded him. His gaze dropped to the floor, feeling completely exposed in front of her though he remained fully dressed. "The kind of trauma you've been through, the abuse you suffered at the hands of HYDRA…. I don't think anyone could go through all of that without it leaving a mark on your psyche. That kind of trauma changes a person. It can make it more difficult to have functional relationships, to hold down a job, to feel comfortable in everyday life. It makes a lot of things harder. But it can get better. You can get better." He looked back up at her.

"Can I?" he asked softly. He sometimes recalled vague memories of the man he used to be, remembered the swagger and the innocence that had been tortured and shocked and ground out of him so long ago. That man was dead and gone; he would never be him again. But beyond that impossibility, there was a more pressing question that had been hovering on the edge of his consciousness since he had arrived at the hospital. "Should I?" Deborah frowned, as if she didn't quite understand what he was asking. He shook his head and looked down again, eyes unfocused and not seeing the carpet before his vision. "All the things that I've done, all the people I've hurt, the ones I've killed… is that something that I should just… get over? Move on?" Deborah didn't answer right away, the question hanging in the air between them. Eventually, Bucky glanced back up at her.

"Yes," she whispered as soon as he caught her eyes. "Maybe not quite as callously as that makes it sound, but you can recover. You were used by HYDRA to do terrible things, but the blame for those things is on them, not on you. They weren't your fault, they weren't your choice. Even the judge agreed that you weren't responsible. You don't need to carry the guilt for the rest of your life." Bucky stared at his new therapist, unconvinced. She regarded him with empathy. "Is that why you haven't been taking your antidepressant? Because you don't think you deserve to feel better?"

"That might be part of it," he admitted. "A little blue pill isn't going to erase what I've done, the damage I've caused."

"That's not why you're supposed to take it," she pointed out. "You take it so you can stop jumping at shadows, so you can sleep at night, so you can build a life beyond the Winter Soldier. Wouldn't you like to be able to heal enough here that you can move on to the next thing? Show that you're safe enough to return to society, rebuild your life?" Bucky contemplated her words, slowly shaking his head.

"I don't know that I am… safe enough," he admitted. "Maybe it would be best if I just stayed here." Her eyes widened slightly.

"For how long?" she asked gently. "This isn't a sanitarium, Bucky. Nobody stays forever." He stared out the window at the green grass outside. He was already missing being able to go outside, missing the brief two years he had freedom before he landed back behind walls that he wasn't allowed to leave.

"I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I just don't know… about any of this." Deborah nodded.

"And that's okay," she affirmed. "You don't have to have everything figured out right now. Or by our next session. Or by next month." She leaned back in her chair and contemplated him. "This is a process. I don't know where it might take us, but I promise you one thing. As long as you're here, and as long as you keep showing up for our sessions, I will show up for you, too."Bucky had a lot to think about after his session with Deborah. Rather than sitting down at the desk, he lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a long, long time. The part of his brain that never rested but constantly monitored his environment for threats remained on alert. It noted the staff doing rounds, footsteps and voices of people walking down the hall outside his room. He heard Megan's distinctive giggle near his door and went on high alert for a moment, but she didn't come in. They called him for lunch, breaking his dark reverie. With a sigh, he got up and went to grab his tray.

* * *

He grew tired of his thoughts running over the same tired, shrieking tracks over and over, and distracted himself with exercise in his room. To make it more challenging, he put his metal arm behind his back and concentrated on how many push-ups he could do before his flesh arm gave out. The sweat trickled down his face and dripped onto the floor as he mouthed his count silently in Russian. He had only reached 784 when a knock on the door drew his attention. He looked up to see Claire staring at him. Panting, he rose to his knees and wiped the sweat from his brow before climbing to his feet.

"Bucky, hey, I… ah… I have some good news for you," Claire said cheerfully, her cheeks still slightly pink. "It took me all week, seven calls, five faxes and I had to make my way up the food chain a bit, but they are going to reinstate your full benefits, including pay, and including your retroactive POW wages." She sounded triumphant. Bucky, still processing her words, blinked slowly, frowning.

"Retroactive… wages?" he repeated, trying to wrap his head around the fact that they might pay him even though he was working for the enemy, trying to do math at the same time to estimate how much money she was talking about. Claire grinned brilliantly.

"Yep. They're still finalizing the totals, but you should start getting checks in the mail next month. The retroactive check, though…. That should be coming in a couple weeks. And it should be pretty substantial. Probably seven figures." Bucky's eyes almost fell out of his head, and he sat down hard on the bed.

"What? I can't…. that's… it's too much, I don't…" he stammered. Claire leaned back against his desk.

"Bucky, you are probably the longest-running prisoner of war I've ever heard of. Why shouldn't you get POW pay for that?" she asked.

"You mean, aside from the fact that I was actively fighting against them for a lot of that time?" he pointed out. He wasn't certain why he felt like crying. Claire shrugged.

"What you do with it after you have it is up to you," she said flatly, looking somewhat deflated. "But I fought hard to get it for you. You'll need something to live on after you're discharged." Bucky immediately felt ashamed. She had been so excited to give him this news, and had worked all week for it, but he was discounting her effort out of hand.

"Of course, thank you. You're amazing, Claire. Truly. I can't believe you did this for me. I just… need some time to, um… get used to the idea." His apologies needed work, but Claire smiled at him and seemed to recover some of that zeal.

"Sure. Hopefully you'll have time to get used to it by the time the money starts coming in," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. Bucky exhaled in a half-chuckle and nodded. Claire exited the room, leaving him bewildered and breathless in a way that he was sure had nothing to do with his one-armed push-ups.


	4. Day 7

One week after his arrival, Bucky decided to try attending the morning meeting again. This time, it was refreshingly uneventful. Bucky didn't say anything beyond introducing himself at the beginning. Alec sniggered when he said his name, but Bucky ignored it and it didn't escalate further than that. He still was in observer mode, watching the staff and other patients, assessing levels of threat, determining the best way to defend against them if it came to that. The morning meeting wasn't terrible. After the introductions, they went over the unit rules again, then outlined what the schedule for the day would be. Laura asked if there were any unit issues to discuss. Megan rambled on for three minutes straight about people hogging the television. Laura acknowledged her concern and reiterated that this was a communal television, and everyone had to take turns if there was a disagreement over the channel. Then she took some little postcards out of her folder.

"Before we end the morning meeting, here is your thought for the day," she announced, and looked down at top card. "The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power. Author unknown." She looked around at the gathered patients. "Does anyone have any thoughts on that? What does it mean to you?"

"It means, forget the past, it's done, don't worry about it," Alec said with a smirk. "Nothing you can do about it anyway." Laura raised her eyebrows at him.

"That's…. one interpretation," she said diplomatically. Travis uncrossed the massive arms that were folded over his chest and leaned forward.

"It means we shouldn't waste our energy worrying about things that we can't change, like the past. Focus on how we can be better now, and moving forward," he said, his voice a deep bass rumble. Laura grinned at him.

"Thank you, Travis. I like that analysis," she proclaimed. "Okay, meeting adjourned." Bucky stood and headed back to his room as the others dispersed. Laura stopped him in the doorway. "Bucky, they want me to do a living skills evaluation with you. Can we meet for that this afternoon?" He frowned.

"A what evaluation?" he asked. Laura looked a little embarrassed.

"Living skills eval," she repeated. "Usually it's something we do if someone wants to return to independent living but there are concerns about their ability to live safely without supervision. Or it can just highlight areas that need work. Um, you wouldn't be somebody that I would think needs one, but the court recommended it."

"Well, who am I to argue with the court?" Bucky said levelly.

"Okay, so… 12:30, after lunch?" Laura asked. "Are you up for that?" Bucky nodded, and she smiled. "Great. I'll come and get you then." He nodded again, and she left.

* * *

After lunch, he was surprised when she led him off the unit for the first time since he had arrived on it. As they walked down the main corridor, he gazed out the large windows that looked out over the courtyard. It was a clear, sunny day, and he hadn't breathed unrecycled air in a week. Laura glanced at him, and her expression became softer.

"Why don't we cut through here?" she suggested, and opened the next set of doors they came to, leading Bucky out onto a sidewalk weaving between green grass and flowering trees. The breeze carried the scent of living things to him, and he took a deeper breath involuntarily, feeling some of the constant tension unknot in the pit of his stomach. He followed Laura quietly as they crossed the courtyard. There were tables with chairs, a basketball court, a volleyball net stretched out over sand, and even a fountain over in one corner. He could hear birds singing, and caught another scent of the flowering trees as they passed close by one of them. Then they were through another set of double doors and back inside, leaving the grass and trees and fresh air regretfully behind them.

A little further down the hall, Laura unlocked a door and led him through to a little kitchen. Along one wall was a refrigerator, stove, counter and sink. Much of the room that was left was taken up by a small table with a couple chairs, various items stacked on it. Laura gestured for him to have a seat, then sat in the other chair and quickly sorted through her paperwork.

The first few tasks were fairly simple. Bucky had no problem making change, although it took him a moment to switch back to American currency after being out of the country for so long. A lot of the questions were common sense or simple math. The phone book was more challenging. It was much thicker than the ones he was used to, and there were two separate ones – one for commercial, one for residential – which took him a few minutes to figure out. Ultimately, he was able to answer all of the questions. Then she directed him over to the stove.

Bucky hadn't done much with a stove. He had some vague memories of his mother making meals on her gas cookstove, but he hadn't learned to do much with it. It mainly fell to his sisters to help his mother in the kitchen. In the army, his meals had been served to him, or pre-packaged and prepared, and after that… well, HYDRA hadn't kept the Winter Soldier around to cook them meals. His apartment in Romania hadn't included a stove, and he had managed to squeak by with a combination of a toaster, hot plate and mostly just eating cold meals. This stove had more dials and buttons than the washing machine, and he found himself just as lost. Laura kept asking questions, but he stopped being able to find the answers. Standing in front of the stove, he just let his hands hang at his side as he admitted he didn't know. He glanced over at Laura, wondering what punishment would be forthcoming. During his time with HYDRA, every mistake must be punished. Setting down her paperwork, Laura smiled at him, and the assessment smoothly transitioned to a lesson as she instructed him on how to work a modern stove.

* * *

When he arrived back on the unit, things were quiet. Most of the other patients were in their rooms, except for a couple who were pacing. One was Dominic, whose eyes were wide and focused on nothing as he raced along the unit hallway, in a hurry to get nowhere as he engaged in animated conversation by himself. In a different hallway, Travis moved with long, purposeful strides. He reached the end of the hallway, tapped on the handle of the emergency exit, then turned and went back the way he came. He nodded at Bucky as he passed him in the hall. Watching him, Bucky noticed that his lips moved silently at times, as if talking to someone, but he made no sound. Bucky made his way back to his room, but hesitated with one hand on the doorknob. He had spent the better part of a week in that room, and he was beginning to loathe it. Getting off the unit and even outside, even briefly, made it that much harder to confine himself again. Some exercise might even feel good. Bypassing his door, he walked to the end of the hallway, then turned and walked back.

The space was neither large nor circuitous, but nobody yelled at him for walking. Eventually he found his laps had him tagging behind Travis. There was something familiar about the way the man moved, something that triggered memories of boot camp and the Army. He quickened his pace slightly, falling into step beside the larger man.

"Military?" he asked quietly. Travis glanced over at him and nodded.

"Did two tours in Afghanistan," he confirmed. "Last tour, they started dropping gas on us. I ran around and made sure that everyone in my platoon had their gas masks on, but mine wasn't secured properly." He shook his head and paced silently for a moment. "After that, the voices started," he continued, tapping his temple. Bucky's eyes widened.

"Wow, that's… terrible. I'm sorry that happened to you." He couldn't think of anything else to say. It seemed inadequate, but Travis didn't seem to mind. He shrugged.

"Yeah, some days are rough. But some of the guys in my squad, they didn't make it home alive. Some of them are missing arms or legs," he pointed out. Bucky flexed his metal hand reflexively. Travis didn't seem to notice, but continued. "We all have our troubles, some more visible than others. Life is hard, but at least we're still alive."

"How… did you end up in here?" Bucky ventured. Travis grinned ruefully.

"I stopped taking my meds. Every now and then, I feel like I can get by without them. But then… the voices come back, the nightmares come back… everything goes to hell, and I end up back in these places." They reached the end of the hallway, and Travis gave the exit door a harder thump. He looked over at Bucky. "So what about you? You Army too?" Bucky nodded slowly. "You see any action?"

"More than I care to think about," Bucky admitted.

"Yeah? Where?" Travis seemed interested, not just making conversation. "Iraq? Iran? Afghanistan?"

"Ah… Originally Italy, Germany… Austria…" Bucky trailed off, not wanting to reveal too much. Travis glanced at him sharply.

"And you saw action there? I didn't hear about any recent conflict in those countries."

"Yeah, not so recent. Ah… during World War II." Bucky braced himself for the reaction, but was taken by surprise when Travis burst out laughing.

"No shit? Are you for real, or are you fucking with me?" he asked.

"I'm for real," Bucky said with a wry smile. Travis shook his head and chuckled again.

"Never can be sure in this place. People believe all kinds of weird shit. So, you're like… way older than you look." Bucky nodded, debating whether or not to explain his repeated stints in cryosleep.

"Travis!" They both turned at the voice that called Travis' name. One of the nurses was waving at him from the med window. "Come and get your afternoon pill!"

"Guess that's my cue," Travis said with a broad grin. "I'll catch you later, Bucky." The big man headed over to the window, and Bucky contemplated going into the dayroom for half a second before deciding against it. He returned to his room instead.

* * *

They called him for dinner a little while later, at the usual time. He got his tray out of the cart, and turned to take it back to his room, just as he usually did. Travis caught his eye and tapped on the table next to where he was seated.

"Bucky, seat's available," he said invitingly. Bucky hesitated for a moment, but then sat down by his new acquaintance. It had been a long time since he had eaten a meal with someone, and he was surprised to find that he had missed it. Even the overprocessed hospital food seemed to taste better with company. After they were finished eating, Travis stood and took both his tray and Bucky's back to the cart. Bucky was debating whether to return to his room or not when Ted the orderly sat down at the table across from him. He shuffled a deck of cards with an expert hand.

"You guys up for a round of King's Corner?" he asked as Travis sat back down. The big man shrugged.

"Sure." He glanced over at Bucky. "Have you played this game before?" Bucky shook his head. He remembered sometimes watching his handlers play Durak or Poker, but they had never invited him to play.

"I'll teach you," Ted said easily as he started to deal out the cards. "I promise not to beat you too badly. At least, not for the first couple hands."

"You don't need to let me win," Bucky assured him. "I'm a fast learner." Ted chuckled.

"We shall see," he remarked.

The game was not an overly complicated one, but still enjoyable, and Bucky appreciated the mental exercise. As he had warned them, he did learn quickly, and won the last four hands they played. Ted proclaimed it was beginner's luck, and Travis teasingly accused him of cheating without any challenge or umbrage in his voice. In the moment, Bucky almost forgot that he was a killer, and confined to this place against his will. In the moment, he felt more like himself and less like the Winter Soldier than at any other time since escaping HYDRA. In the moment, he realized that he was actually having fun. He had difficulty remembering the last time he had done that.


	5. Day 10

In the quiet hours of the morning, before the other patients started awakening for the day, Bucky ate his breakfast in peace. For once, he did not feel in a hurry to get back to his room. Instead, he turned the unit's sole television on and sat down in one of the lightly padded chairs. He watched in fascination at the images flickering across the screen.

It wasn't that he'd never seen a television before. They hadn't had one at home when he was growing up, but he had occasionally glimpsed one when visiting others. Grainy black and white images were projected on a tiny screen surrounded by a huge box. He'd gotten short peeks at other television sets through the years, too, on missions or as his handlers would watch the occasional television show or news broadcast. They had never invited him to watch with them, however, and he had never asked. He was amazed at the difference now. Bright, colorful, crisp images danced on a screen only a few inches thick. He'd seen a television every now and then on his travels, during missions, but he had never sat down to watch them. He frowned slightly at the show on display currently. A man was talking very excitedly about a knife sharpener that could sharpen anything – even a credit card, whatever that was – into a razor-sharp edge. He threw a tomato at the blade, and it fell into two halves. A phone number splashed across the screen, and the voice announced that it could be his for just two easy payments of 9.99. Bucky raised his eyebrows. Despite the apparent usefulness of the product, the price seemed steep, and he was slightly disappointed that the future hadn't come up with more impressive programming.

"Do you want to use the remote?" Tammy offered as she came into the dayroom, holding the rectangular plastic device out towards him. The aide was wearing her usual aqua colored scrubs. "This early, there's not much on aside from news and infomercials." Bucky hesitantly took the remote and furrowed his brows at it. A few of the buttons were labeled with numbers, but he was not as familiar with the rest of the controls. He pressed one labeled with an arrow, and the picture changed to a woman hocking a pair of sparkly earrings. Then a desk with a news anchor talking about the weather for the day. He kept pressing the button, and the picture kept changing, and it didn't seem to come back to the same programming.

"Are you looking for anything in particular?" Tammy asked. He shook his head.

"I don't really watch television," he admitted quietly, pausing for a moment on a cartoon tiger. "How many channels are there?" Tammy shrugged.

"We only have basic cable here, so only about forty," she said nonchalantly. Bucky's eyes widened. She shrugged. "And there's still nothing good on half the time." Raising an eyebrow, he proffered the remote back to her.

"What do you like to watch?" he queried. With a chuckle, she changed the channel.

"Good Morning America is usually a pretty safe bet," she commented. Bucky sat back in his seat as she left the dayroom, clipboard in hand. He tried to appear casual as other patients began to filter in, stumbling sleepily to the door of the kitchen to get their trays of food. The door opened, and Tammy reappeared there, handing out trays with a side of juice or coffee. A familiar giggle drew his attention towards the door as Megan burst through.

"Good morning, everyone!" she sang out. "Are you ready for the day? Sleep well? Get a good breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day!" Most of the others seemed to ignore her rapid-fire delivery. Bucky tried to concentrate on the television, but his attention was drawn to the girl as she regaled Tammy with detailed descriptions of her dreams last night. Bucky wasn't sure when she'd had time to dream; he had heard her out in the hallway late at night and in the wee hours of the morning. She loaded up her breakfast tray and glanced around the dayroom. Her face brightened as she saw Bucky there, and he stiffened as she approached and plopped down in the chair next to him unceremoniously. "Buckeeeeeeey!" she keened, reaching over to put her arm around his shoulders, her head burrowing into his shoulder. He stiffened, eyes widening, unsure exactly how to react.

"Megan, boundaries!" Tammy called from the kitchen. With a pout and a groan, she straightened up, pulling her arm back from around him. He still didn't relax. "Better, but how about you go sit in that chair over there?" From behind the cart in the kitchen, she pointed to an empty seat two rows over. Megan folded her arms over her chest.

"Why you tryna cockblock my man?" she demanded. Bucky looked over at her sharply. He wasn't familiar with the terms she was using, but some of the implications were clear.

"I'm not…" he protested, but Tammy was already pushing the cart aside and coming into the dayroom.

"It's part of my job," she said evenly, and pointed to the empty chair again. "You need to move."

"I'll move," Bucky offered, standing up and moving over to the seat she had indicated. Tammy looked less than pleased but didn't argue with him. Megan stood up with her tray and took a step in that direction. Tammy stepped in her way.

"No, you stay there," she said sternly. "Sit back down." Megan glared at her.

"What's going on?" Sarah called from the doorway. Tammy gestured.

"Can you come stay in here? I have to finish breakfast, but someone needs to make sure she stays away from him," she explained. Sarah nodded and seated herself next to Megan.

"Man, you guys are no fun. Joykilling bitches," Megan groused. Bucky was half-inclined to diffuse the issue by returning to his room, but morning meeting would be starting in another ten minutes, and he had gotten used to starting his day with it. He focused on the television instead, and was relieved when Laura came in to start the group. Megan did not seem to feel the same way, however, and flounced out. Bucky was more relieved than he wanted to admit to see her go.

* * *

His relief was short-lived. Almost as soon as he exited the dayroom after the group was over, he heard rushing feet behind him. Megan gave herself away with her distinctive giggle. Bucky wasn't sure whether it was his imagination, but her laughter seemed to have more of an edge to it than when he had first arrived, driven more by mania than amusement. It wasn't entirely a happy sound, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Where are you going, Bucky?" she asked coyly, her eyes overly wide. He took a large step to the side, shaking his head slightly.

"I was just going to my room," he said with a shrug. She danced in a little circle around him.

"Want some company?" she asked, slipping her arm through his and clinging to his shoulder.

"That's against the rules," he protested, trying to extricate his arm, but she clung to him fiercely.

"Fuck the rules," she said fervently. "This is true love." He gave her an incredulous look, trying desperately to think of what he had said or done to give her the idea that he had feelings for her.

"Megan, Bucky, boundaries!" Sarah called from the end of the hall as she caught sight of them. Bucky tried once more to push her off his arm, and this time was successful.

"I, I don't…" he stammered, but she didn't seem to be listening to him, instead gazing up into the corner.

"Oooh, look at the faeries," she cooed, seemingly entranced. "They're so beautiful." She giggled again, dropping Bucky's arm to reach towards the ceiling, grabbing at something that he couldn't see. She cupped her hands and stared at the empty space trapped between her fingers in fascination. Bucky took advantage of her distraction to slip away into his room and close the door behind him. He ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide, and shook his head, taking a deep, shaky breath.

* * *

He came out again a few hours later, checking the hall cautiously before stepping out into it. Megan was sitting by one of the phones, gesturing frantically as she talked to the person on the other end of the line. Her attention seemed occupied, at least for the moment. Dominic was pacing frenetically in the hallway, eyes wide and focused on something beyond the carpet, mumbling a one-sided dialogue to himself. Bucky hesitantly walked to the dayroom. It was nearly noon, and lunch trays would be arriving soon for those who were still eating on the unit. In the dayroom, Alec and Rob were sitting in the front row, watching the television. In the corner, Anna was sitting with her legs pulled up underneath her, although she seemed more interested in staring out the window than watching TV. She mumbled to herself occasionally, and sometimes she frowned and shook her head. As Bucky walked in, Alec half-turned and made a face at Anna.

"Hey, Looney Tunes, quiet down back there. We're trying to watch the show," he jeered. She glanced towards him, her expression blank, then looked back out the window. Turning her hips, she faced more fully out the window, away from the others in the room. Alec snickered. "Retard." Rob chuckled. Bucky frowned.

"Alec, aren't we all here because of… mental problems?" he said. It wasn't quite the right term, but he couldn't think of it at the moment, and he didn't think the nuance would matter so much to the other man. Alec snorted.

"Maybe you are, Hillbilly Bucky," he said mockingly. "But I'm just here because my lawyer told me to plead insanity, so I could go here rather than to jail. I'm not like the rest of you."

"Is that so?" Bucky contemplated the bully's smug face and debated if it was worth the trouble he would get in to punch it. He decided against it, reminding himself that he wasn't here to fight. "Too bad they still don't have a cure for being an asshole." Deciding that was likely the best parting line he'd be able to come up with, he exited the room just as Sarah entered through the other door. He doubted Alec would continue with staff present. He stopped short a few feet out the door as Dominic nearly collided with him but swerved at the last second.

"…know that the door works better than the window… hey, Bucky … just don't think that's the right wall…" Bucky froze for a moment, watching the slight man walk away from him. He had never gotten the impression that Dominic was paying any attention to anything going on around him, much less that he was retaining names and remembering people. He didn't have long to wait before Dominic came pacing back his way again, and he fell into step beside the smaller man.

"Hello, Dominic," he returned the greeting.

"Hi, Bucky," Dominic repeated, and for a moment his constant conversation ceased.

"I didn't think you knew who I was," Bucky admitted. Dominic still didn't look at him, instead staring at something in front of him that Bucky couldn't see.

"'Course I know who you are. I just can't wake up," Dominic claimed. Bucky frowned slightly.

"You're awake now," he pointed out.

"No, I know I look like I'm awake, but I'm really sleeping. I'm asleep and I can't wake up," Dominic insisted.

"That sounds… unpleasant." If nothing else, Bucky knew what it was like to be stuck in a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

"I just have to figure out how to wake up, wake up, wake up," Dominic replied. He continued mouthing the refrain, but the words became soundless. The sound of the unit doors opening made Bucky look over his shoulder, and he saw the lunch cart being wheeled in.

"Looks like lunch is here," he commented. Dominic didn't look around, but nodded, still mouthing silently to himself.

* * *

After lunch, Bucky returned to his room for a break. He needed some space to decompress and process the day's interactions so far. He wrote in his journal, exercised, and contemplated taking a shower. When he checked the bathroom, however, he realized he was out of towels and would need to ask the staff for more.

When he emerged in the hallway, there were new faces at the nursing station. He recognized Hannah, but there was another nurse he hadn't seen before. A glance at the clock confirmed that it was after the start of the second shift. As he walked closer to the desk, he realized the new nurse was on the phone, and a shock ran down his spine as he realized she was speaking Russian. He froze in place, eying her warily.

 _"Load the dishwasher and make sure your homework is done before you play_ ex-box _,"_  she chided into the line.  _"There's casserole in the refrigerator for dinner."_ She paused. " _Well, you're free to make something else. But no ordering pizza unless you want to spend your own money."_ There was a longer pause, and she sighed. " _Fine, just leave some for me this time. Remember to lock the door before you go to bed. Love you."_ She hung up the phone and looked up to see Bucky staring at her. Smiling at him, she switched to accented English. "Hello, how are you?"

"Fine," Bucky replied. His internal alarm was still on high alert. "I don't remember seeing you before. Are you new here?" She shook her head slightly.

"No, I've worked here fourteen years. I was just on vacation," she explained. Her explanation made sense but didn't put him at ease. Her phone conversation had sounded innocent enough but could have been an elaborate cover.

" _Vacation?"_ he queried in Russian, wanting to gauge her reaction when she realized he understood her conversation. " _Where did you go?"_ Her expression registered shock, then brightened, and a wide smile spread across her face.

" _Visited family, in Ukraine,"_ she replied.  _"Where did you learn to speak Russian?"_ He grimaced slightly.

" _Siberia,_ " he replied, and did not elaborate. Her eyes widened slightly.

" _You must be James Barnes,"_ she realized out loud. He ducked his head slightly.

" _Yes, but I go by Bucky,"_ he informed her. She nodded at him.

" _And I'm Reyna. Well, Bucky, what can I do for you?"_ she asked. He had to give it to her, if she was affiliated with HYDRA, she was excellent at concealing it. Many of them were, though. He would have to keep a close eye on her.

" _Some towels?"_ he requested. She grinned.

" _Easy enough."_ She got up and exited the nursing station, crossing the floor to the linen closet, which she unlocked and grabbed several folded towels.  _"How long were you in Siberia?"_ Bucky considered her question earnestly. Should he include the time frozen, or just the time he was conscious? He had a vague idea what the calendar date was when he'd arrived, and he thought he knew when he left there for the last time. But how much of that time had he been awake, aware and operational? That was where things started to get jumbled.

" _That's a good question,"_ he said as she handed him the plain white towels.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU BITCH!" Bucky tensed and turned towards the loud noise, his body braced for the attack, but Megan didn't seem to see him. She swung at Reyna instead. Her fist connected, but the nurse was already moving out of the way, half-blocking the blow. Bucky reached out and grabbed Megan's wrist before she could swing again.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed. She glanced at him and smiled, and he knew instantly from the wild look in her eyes that she was not to be reasoned with.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll kick her ass for you," she blurted, and pulled away from him, charging at Reyna again. Behind the desk was a flurry of movement, and he heard an alarm sound.

"Code Green, Unit Delta. Code Green, Unit Delta," blared over the overhead speakers. There was a sudden influx of staff and a flurry of movement. Two of them were on top of Megan before she could swing again and had her pinned to the floor. She was screaming profanity at them as more staff that he didn't recognize arrived, followed by security.

"Can we clear the area?" one of them asked, glancing suspiciously at Bucky.

"Bucky, can you please go to your room?" Hannah asked distractedly as she opened the door into the room where they stored the medications. "We need to clear the area." His throat was dry as he stared at the growing group of people pinning down Megan, who was still wrestling and screaming. He straightened up as someone wheeled out a chair with straps on it, and a chill ran down his spine.

"What are you going to do to her?" he demanded as he recognized Jeff, one of the aides.

"She just needs some help getting back in control," Jeff replied. "Let us handle it, okay? We need the area clear, so you need to go to your room." Slowly, Bucky backed away, feeling like it was the wrong thing to do. He turned and looked back as he reached his door, and wished he hadn't, as he saw them strapping her down in the chair, still screaming. He shut the door behind him and lay down on the bed, but he could still hear it. It went on for longer than he expected, and with every passing minute the guilt pressed more deeply onto him, until an elephant of shame was pinning him on the bed. Then it stopped, and somehow, that was even worse.

* * *

Hannah knocked on his door some time later. He had managed to drag himself out of the bed and was sitting at the desk, staring down at the blank notebook page in front of him.

"Supper trays are here, Bucky," she said quietly.

"I'm not hungry," he replied. He had no appetite for food with the massive, leaden knot sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay. I'll try to save it, in case you get hungry later," she offered. Bucky didn't answer right away. He couldn't really think about eating right now. Hannah took a step back, as if she were about to leave.

"Is she okay?" he asked lowly. He wasn't sure if his words were loud enough for her to hear, but she paused.

"Reyna is shaken, but she's okay. Megan will be okay, too. She just needed a little help getting back in control." Hannah's tone was placating, but now Bucky wasn't sure he could trust her. The doctors at HYDRA had used phrases like that, too. His expression must have been unconvinced, because Hannah stepped into the room. "Bucky, our main job here is to keep everyone safe. Sometimes people need extra help staying safe. I don't like using those kinds of measures, but I couldn't very well let her go around punching everyone, now could I?" Bucky glanced at her for the first time since she had knocked on the door.

"I suppose not," he admitted begrudgingly. Hannah raised her eyebrows at him.

"Is there something going on between you two?" she asked.

"No!" Bucky said immediately, then sighed. "She seems to think there is, but there's not."

"That's kind of what I thought," Hannah said, and stepped back into the hallway. "I'll put your supper tray in the kitchen, if you decide you want it." Bucky nodded silently to his empty room. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his pen and began to write.


	6. Day 12

He didn't leave his room for the rest of the night. He barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hands strapping Megan into that chair, images of fluid-filled hypodermic needles dancing across a dark field with red stars, the specter of HYDRA looming in the background, glowering over Megan's desperate screams. His nightmares twisted, and suddenly he was the one strapped in the chair, screaming as electricity coursed through him, purging all thoughts save for trying to survive. He jerked awake, body still tingling with revived nerve memories.

He got up and stood by the window, fist clenched. He pulled his arm back, ready to smash out the reinforced glass. A plan started to form in his mind. It would be so easy to jump through the window and let his legs carry him far away from this place, to disappear into the night and vanish, just as he had before. Something stopped him, and he hesitated. He was aware that Steve had staked his reputation on making this deal to keep Bucky out of prison… or worse. They had found him once. They would probably find him again, and next time, the conditions might be even worse. And really, didn't he deserve to be here? He had a debt to pay to society, and this place was perhaps as good a place as any. Perhaps he had deserved this treatment all along. The thought didn't do much to ease the desperate feeling that he wasn't safe in this place, but he moved away from the window.

He sat down at the desk, taking refuge in his writing to try purge the jumble of thoughts bouncing around his head. His journal was becoming a confusing battlefield of questions scribbled in the margins, charging across the page at potential answers. For a moment, he had felt that maybe he was in a safe place, but now he wasn't so sure. HYDRA had been all about control, and were willing to take extreme measures to ensure they maintained it. Perhaps his new situation wasn't so different from his old one, after all. He glanced suspiciously whenever someone knocked on his door. They invited him to groups, they invited him to meals. When he ignored them, they went away. It wasn't until the light in his room started to fade again that he realized he had spent the entire day as a hermit. He pushed away from the desk and paced back and forth, the walls feeling closer and more restricted than ever. It only took him four steps to reach the opposite wall, and then he had to change direction and go back the other way. After about ten minutes, he decided the pacing wasn't helping, so he switched to push-ups. It took several hours, but he finally reached muscle exhaustion, and collapsed on the floor for a few minutes before dragging himself back into the bed.

* * *

"Bucky, did you want some breakfast?" Sarah asked tentatively. He shook his head and didn't look at her. He could ignore his stomach for awhile longer. "Are you sure?" she pressed. "They said in report that you didn't eat at all yesterday."

"Just don't have much of an appetite, I guess," he said dully. It wasn't entirely true. The thought of leaving his room to go eat made his gut wrench, but the raw gnawing was a constant dull reminder that he would need to eat at some point. Sarah nodded and left him alone. He gathered his towels together and headed for the shower. He lost count of the number of times he restarted the water after the automatic timer turned it off. He leaned his arms against the wall and braced his forehead against his crossed arms, just letting the hot water run over his back and down his body.

After an eternity, he stepped out of the shower. The condensation was thick on the mirror. He wiped away the layer of steam and stared grimly at his reflection. Someone stared back at him through pale blue eyes, but at the moment, he wasn't sure who it was. Toweling off, he slipped back into his room. Someone had left milk and cereal, a banana and coffee on the desk for him. There was even a blueberry muffin. The knot in the pit of his stomach uncoiled ever so slightly, and he sat down to eat.

* * *

"Bucky, are you coming to our session today?" Bucky looked up to see Deborah standing in the doorway. He stared at the patch of floor by her feet for a long time.

"No, I don't think so," he said softly, finally, and looked away. He expected her to move on and leave him alone, as the others had, and so was somewhat startled to glance in that direction and see that, rather than leaving, she had stepped into the room and was leaning casually against the wall.

"The nurses mentioned that you've been hiding out in here since they called the code on Megan," she noted casually. Bucky looked away, focusing instead on the journal tucked away in the corner of his desk.

"Don't want to cause any more trouble," he said softly. "Probably safer for everyone if I just stay in here."

"Safer for you, too?" Deborah suggested gently. Bucky glanced over at her silently, but didn't deny it. Deborah gave him a measured look. "It sounds to me like you could use a session to unpack, and process what happened."

"With you?" Bucky asked, more sharply than he had intended. Deborah didn't wince.

"Yes, with me," she confirmed.

"How do I know I can trust you?" he queried warily.

"That's a decision you'll have to make for yourself," she responded. "I can't convince you simply by insisting that I'm trustworthy. If I haven't earned your trust yet, then that's something I'll need to work on. I'm not asking to know everything going through your head right now, Bucky. In fact, if you just want to spend our entire session bitching about how much it sucks to be here, I'm fine with that." He gave her a disbelieving look, the ghost of a smile haunting the corners of his mouth. She smiled back at him. "Yes, really. So what do you think?" Bucky mulled it over for a minute. Pushing his chair back, he stood.

"Guess I wouldn't mind getting out of this room for awhile," he admitted. Deborah nodded and led the way, out into the hall and back towards the nurses' station, not checking to see if he was following her or not. He did, just a few paces behind. He paused as he passed the dayroom, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Megan sitting at one of the tables, her expression bright. She was chattering away at Travis, who appeared to be half paying attention with a patient expression. She seemed to have suffered no lasting damage from her ordeal. The knot in his stomach eased further, and he took a deep breath before continuing down the hall to where Deborah was waiting, holding the door to the small lounge open for him.

After he settled in, he was silent for the first five minutes. Deborah didn't press him but sat patiently.

"You all seem very concerned with control here," he noted, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. "Needles, pills and fake smiles rather than guns and barked orders, but the locked doors and restraints aren't much different…" He trailed off, unsure if he wanted to finish that statement.

"Different from…?" Deborah prompted, but he couldn't bring himself to answer. She gave him some time, but he only folded his hands in front of his mouth, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched. She took a deep breath, raised her eyebrows. "I suppose there are elements of being here that feels very much like when you were a prisoner of HYDRA. Locked doors, restrictions on your movement, restraint chairs, surrounded by strangers with unknown and possibly hostile intentions. Witnessing that Code Green must have been… difficult for you."

"I've seen worse," Bucky mumbled, focusing on the carpet. "Done worse, even."

"I've no doubt of that," she replied. "But piling trauma on top of trauma generally makes it harder to deal with, not easier." She leaned forward. "If it's any consolation, the point of a situation like that is to try to help the person regain control of themselves. It isn't to give us control, not in any permanent way." He glanced up at her warily.

"If I ever lose control, it will take more than what you have here… to get me back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Deborah raised her eyebrows at him, but he didn't elaborate. He couldn't, not yet. The image of that red book still haunted him, the idea that he had been minutes away from someone hijacking his mind once again to use for their own evil purposes was… well, terrifying didn't really quite cover it. He had run halfway around the world to escape it, and still it turned up, like a bad penny. Perhaps he would never truly be free of it.

"I did hear that you play a mean hand of King's Corner," Deborah remarked, changing the subject after a long pause as Bucky lost himself in his dark thoughts. Caught off guard by the new topic, he half-grinned.

"Beginner's luck," he said dismissively.

"I'm not sure I believe that," Deborah replied with a twinkle in her eye. The conversation turned to innocuous topics – things that had happened on the unit, the terrible food, occasionally roving into vague memories from his childhood of games he had played and enjoyed. Gradually, his hands went from in front of his face to crossed over his chest to open and resting on the arms of the chair beside him. Eventually, the topic circled back around to the Code Green, and Bucky was surprised to find himself sharing some of the things he had written in his journal, thoughts that had been heavy on his mind. He was surprised when she said their time was up, and even more surprised to find that he wished they could have had more time. As he walked back to his room, he felt just a little lighter. He still wasn't entirely sure how much he could trust them, but it had felt good to tell someone even a fraction of the things that had been troubling him. He thought about going into the dayroom, but Megan spotted him and waved frantically, so he returned to his room instead.

* * *

Laura knocked on his door a couple hours later. He looked up, less suspicious than he had been that morning.

"Hey," she greeted him. "I'm having an invitation-only cooking basics class that I think you would benefit from. It's small, only five or six people. We'll meet once a week, go over some tips and techniques, cook some food, and then you get to eat what you make at the end. Are you interested?" Bucky seriously considered it. That skill would have been nice to have during the two years he was in hiding. Assuming he was ever allowed in the general public again, it would come in handy in the future as well.

"Who will be there?" he queried nervously. "Are you inviting Alec or Megan?" Either one would make the class uncomfortable for him, for different reasons.

"Nobody else from this unit," Laura said reassuringly. "You'll meet them when you get there, if you decide to go." Bucky mulled it over.

"Okay," he agreed. Laura grinned.

"All right. It starts in an hour. I'll be back to walk you down to the kitchen."

* * *

Laura took pity on him once again and walked him through the green grass and fresh air of the courtyard to get to the kitchen. The table in the middle had been set up with five chairs around it, each with a folder and papers at each place. All but one chair were already occupied. Bucky took the remaining place and looked over the paperwork in front of him. It seemed they were going to start from the very basics – kitchen safety, basic nutrition, meal planning, safe food preparation, even a packet in the back that detailed different meats, grains, fruits and vegetables, and gave specific tips for preparing, cooking and identifying when they were ripe, in the case of the fruits and vegetables. He was already somewhat impressed and glad that he came, and the class hadn't really started yet.

The first thing Laura had them do was basic introductions. Bucky had almost gotten used to this from the daily morning meeting. There were two other men in the class, Jacob and Brandon, and two women, Ashley and Meredith. Nobody snickered or made any comments when he introduced himself as Bucky. The next half hour or so consisted of lecture, as she went over most of the information in their handouts and added additional relevant information. Ashley interrupted frequently with questions, sometimes also adding a personal story that didn't seem obviously relevant. Jacob would raise his hand and wait for Laura to call on him. His questions were often ones that had already occurred to Bucky. Brandon sat with arms folded over his chest, not even really looking at his handouts. Meredith was an older woman, and Bucky was surprised that she would need a class like this, but her face was lined and drawn with signs of a hard-lived life. She followed along in her papers, her lips occasionally moving silently, but she otherwise appeared calm and paying attention. Bucky didn't interrupt or ask questions, but scribbled notes in the margins.

After they had finished with the paperwork, Laura went over to the refrigerator and took out a large basket. She placed it on the middle of the table and began unloading fresh vegetables: carrots, broccoli, red, green and yellow bell peppers, cauliflower, zucchini and some small onions. Another small basket held some sprigs and leaves, cloves of garlic, little shakers of salt and pepper. A second trip to the refrigerator produced a stack of thawed chicken breasts.

"For our meal today, we're keeping it simple, just some chicken and vegetables," Laura announced. "Now, you can cook chicken breasts a lot of ways – baked, grilled, broiled, fried, among others – but due to time and equipment limitations, today we're going to learn how to poach them. The vegetables are going to be chopped, seasoned and sautéed. You can select whichever vegetables you prefer and bring them to your workstation." Ashley and Jacob stood up and dug in right away.

"Ugh, broccoli," Ashley said, wrinkling her nose. "Never could stand that stuff." Laura smiled at her.

"You don't have to take anything you don't like," she reminded the woman. Ashley nodded, took some bell peppers and zucchini with her.

"At least it will be colorful, right?" she said with a grin. As she moved over to her workstation, Bucky stood and looked over the remaining vegetable options. During his time in Romania, he had acquired a bit of a taste for fresh fruits and vegetables, at least to snack on. To his mind, raised on Depression gruel and military rations, they were an unbelievable luxury. He had greatly enjoyed his trips to the farmer's market in Bucharest, filled with more fresh food than he and Steve would have seen in six months. At the moment, all of these vegetables looked absolutely delicious, but that might also be related to how hungry he was. He selected a few that looked good and brought them over to his station. Laura put a saucepan on the stove and laid the chicken breasts in it.

"First, we add the aromatics," she explained, sprinkling some salt over the pot and adding some of the green leaves. "I'm using fresh rosemary, thyme and sage. Fresh works best, but if that's not in your budget, the dried kind works, too." She looked around at them. "Anyone want to volunteer to mince some garlic for me?" They all glanced at each other, but nobody moved. Laura shook her head, picked a knife up off the counter. She offered it, handle-first, to Bucky. "You want to take a shot at it?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're trusting me with a knife?" he asked incredulously. They didn't even get real, metal utensils for their meals, just plastic flatware. This knife actually looked sharp.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" she responded. "Do you have plans to use it for anything other than food preparation?"

"No," he grunted, and slowly reached for the knife. He hefted it automatically, testing the weight and balance, and spun it to a better position for chopping.

He heard Ashley's sharp intake of breath, and Jacob whispered, "Holy shit." He glanced over to see the others staring at him. With a sigh, he tried to ignore them, and began to cut the garlic clove. The small movements needed for cooking were very different than the ones he was used to using for combat. The knife's edge wasn't nearly as sharp as he would have preferred, and the balance was terrible, but he had used worse items in a pinch. None of those things changed his comfort level with using a knife. After a few hesitant cuts, he got into a rhythm, turning the teardrop-shaped clove into a little pile of minced bits. He finished, added it to the pot and set aside the knife, hardly noticing the flourish as he did so. He looked up to see they were all still staring at him.

"Get a load of the Iron Chef here!" Brandon spoke up for the first time since introducing himself to the class. "You sure you belong in this class?"

"I'm… just comfortable with knives," Bucky said, tucking his left hand into his pants pocket and wondering who else had noticed the metal.

"Okay, now that we've put all the seasonings in, add just enough water to cover them, plus about an inch," Laura said, demonstrating. "Then we'll bring it to a simmer and let it cook for about fifteen minutes or so, making sure the chicken gets to at least 165 degrees. While we wait for that, let's get started on the vegetables. They need to be sliced into pieces that are roughly the same size, so they cook consistently." Bucky returned to his station and started preparing his vegetables. He thought he could still feel eyes on him as he worked, and he glanced to his left to see Ashley watching him. She was standing closer than he was expecting, a bowl full of still-whole veggies clutched in her hands.

"Can you show me how you do that?" she asked. Bucky hesitated a moment. He did what he did because it was ingrained, and the training methods that had been used on him hadn't exactly been gentle. He had never tried to teach anyone else. She was still watching him with hopeful eyes. He exhaled and took a step over to make room for her at the counter.

"Sure," he said, glancing around to see if anyone disapproved. Laura was watching them but didn't say anything to stop him. It might be his imagination, but she looked like she approved. He corrected Ashley's grip on the knife and patiently talked her through the first few cuts. Once it seemed like she had the hang of it, he returned to his own pile of vegetables.

* * *

The time seemed to fly by, and soon they were all sitting down at the table to eat what they had created. Bucky was sure it was at least partially due to his level of hunger, but he was impressed at how good it tasted. They all ate in silence for the first few minutes.

"So, Iron Chef, if you haven't cooked before, where did you learn to use a knife like that?" Brandon wanted to know. Bucky almost choked on a piece of broccoli.

"Um, in the Army," he hedged vaguely. Brandon grinned.

"Really? What did you use the knife for in the Army?" he pressed.

"Lots of things. But I think I prefer using it this way," Bucky replied cryptically. Brandon raised his eyebrows.

"Oh really? Why is that?" he asked. One corner of Bucky's mouth quirked upwards in an expression that wasn't quite a smile.

"Vegetables don't scream when you cut them." He didn't say the words very loudly, but the eating noises around the table ceased as everyone froze, watching him. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Then Brandon let out a guffaw, and everyone relaxed and resumed eating.

* * *

He returned to the unit with a full belly and a sense of accomplishment. He returned to his room and lay down on the bed. With his body in digestion mode, he was acutely aware of how little sleep he had gotten the past couple days, and how tired he really was. He thought maybe he might rest for a little bit.

When he awakened, there was no daylight streaming through the blind on his window. His stomach growled, informing him that he had slept through supper. There was a familiar smell wafting through the unit, and he opened his door and went to investigate. There was a ping-pong table set up by the nursing station, and when he glanced in the dayroom he spotted a popcorn machine like the ones he remembered seeing in movie theaters set up in the corner. Several patients were already in the dayroom, eating popcorn and watching the television.

"Hey, there you are." Bucky turned to see Travis approaching him. "Haven't seen you for a couple days. Are you doing okay?" Bucky started to nod, but then shrugged.

"Feeling better now, anyway," he said, and was surprised to find that it was true.

"Glad to hear it," Travis replied, and gestured to the ping-pong table. "Are you up for a game? Nobody else will play me 'cause I keep kicking their ass." Bucky grinned.

"I might present a little more of a challenge," he returned.

"We'll see," Travis said. "No using that bionic arm. That's cheating." Bucky shrugged.

"Guess I'll just have to beat you with one hand behind my back, then," he declared with a smirk. He picked up one of the paddles and got into position. "Ready when you are."


	7. Day 14

The day had started out on a sour note, with two of the patients getting into a fight in the dayroom. It hadn't come to blows, but it had been close, and the staff had turned the television off and shooed everyone back to their rooms. Bucky didn't mind spending time in his room, but he didn't get a chance to finish his breakfast. He could still hear the raised voices from the dayroom, but eventually they faded. He was just starting to feel settled in his room when there was a knock on the door, and he looked up to see Dr. Greenmyer. He had met with him a couple times, but they had been short conversations. Bucky still wasn't taking the medication Dr. Greenmyer had prescribed, so there wasn't much to discuss.

"So, Bucky," the doctor said, leaning against the door with his arms folded over his chest. "Still not trusting our medications, I see." Bucky kept staring straight ahead. He didn't look forward to these conversations.

"It's nothing personal," he said softly. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the psychiatrist nod.

"I know that," Dr. Greenmyer replied. He shook his head. "It's no skin off my nose if you don't want to take the pills I prescribe, Bucky. You're the one who isn't getting the help they could provide." This time, Bucky did glance at him.

"How do I even know they'll do anything at all?" he challenged. "Alcohol doesn't even affect me." Dr. Greenmyer spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"There's just one way to find out," he answered. Bucky shifted on the bed.

"I'll think about it," he hedged.

"I'll take it," the doctor replied. "Maybe next time I meet with you, we'll actually have something to discuss."

* * *

After lunch, Bucky paced the halls with Travis. It felt good to get moving, but at the same time emphasized that they were confined to this small space.

"I might be getting' out of here in the next week or two," Travis said suddenly.

"Yeah?" Bucky responded, not sure what else to say. He wasn't exactly thrilled at the thought that the closest thing he had to a friend here was going to be leaving. Travis nodded.

"Yep. Doctor says I'm ready. They're sending referrals to like three different places. One of them, if you do well at the group home, they help you find your own apartment."

"A group home?" Bucky repeated. "So living with a bunch of other people, just like here?" Travis chuckled.

"Yeah, kinda. Except the doors ain't locked, and you can leave, so long as you come back. That makes a big difference," he responded. "And it's just temporary." Bucky nodded.

"Well, congratulations," he said sincerely. He paused for a moment and frowned. Travis took a couple more steps, then realized that Bucky had stopped. He turned and gave him a strange look.

"What's up, Bucky?" he asked. Bucky shook his head.

"Something's wrong," he said. "I smell…" He inhaled through his nose, then turned and opened the door he had stopped next to. The smell was even stronger now. This room had two beds with a curtain between them. On the other side of the curtain, he caught a glimpse of green hair and pale skin splashed with red. His first instinct was to go in and intervene. He took several steps into the room, and his eyes widened as he saw Celie sitting cross-legged on the floor, blood staining her pants and running down her arms. She didn't even look up at him, instead staring at the floor as she rubbed something in her hand along her forearm, leaving another trail of red in its wake. He suddenly remembered that he wasn't supposed to in her room and backed out quickly. Travis gave him a questioning look, but Bucky wasn't wasting time explaining. Tammy was coming out of the dayroom, and he flagged her down. "Celie needs help," he informed her solemnly. She glanced at the still-open door and went to investigate. The next few minutes became chaotic, with staff rushing in and out of her room and codes paging overhead. Bucky was ushered back to his room again as they cleared the unit.

* * *

By suppertime, things had calmed down on the unit. Megan had attempted to talk to him several times, but the staff were quick to redirect her. Despite her arguing, they held firm, so she settled for sending him meaningful glances from across the room, which he did his best to ignore. Celie was back out of her room, clean white bandages peeking out from the ends of her long sleeves, and Sarah shadowing her as she moved around the unit. Bucky, Megan, Celie and Anna were the only people still eating their meals on the unit. Everyone else would head down to the main cafeteria a little later. It was a quiet meal, which suited Bucky just fine. At the end, they made everyone turn in their plastic flatware. He presumed this change in routine had something to do with the incident earlier.

Back in his room, he sat down at his desk and began sorting out his thoughts and reflecting on the events of the day. He wasn't surprised by the knock at his door; they came too frequently to catch him off guard.

"Bucky, you have a visitor," Natalie announced. He looked over at her and frowned.

"A visitor?" he repeated. This was unexpected. "Who is it?" Natalie shrugged.

"I didn't catch his name," she admitted. "Do you want to visit?" Bucky nodded and stood, following her out of his room and down the hall to the visitor lounge. She opened the door to let him in, and his pace slowed. Steve was sitting in the chair with a concerned expression on his face. He hadn't spent any time with Steve since the very brief meeting in Bucharest right before they'd come for him. Since then, he'd been on lockdown. He knew Steve wanted to help. He knew they had been friends. A lot of the other details were still foggy. He also knew that Steve was working from memories from over half a century ago. A lot had happened in the interim. He wasn't that man anymore. He didn't know what Steve was expecting, but from the blond man's expression, he hadn't been expecting this place. His features brightened slightly when he saw Bucky, and he stood.

"Hey, Buck," he greeted him softly. Bucky nodded warily.

"Steve," he said neutrally.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to get here," Steve continued. "Apparently, since your case calls for more security than average, visitor requests have to go through a committee. I just got approved this morning." Bucky nodded. He hadn't been expecting any visitors at all, so he wasn't bothered by the delay.

"It's okay," he said softly. Steve looked like he wasn't sure whether to try to hug Bucky or shake his hand. Instead, he sat back down.

"Are they treating you okay?" Steve asked, glancing worriedly out the window. Dominic was pacing in the halls as usual, mumbling to himself. Bucky shrugged.

"It's not the worst place I've been," he said, still not quite meeting Steve's eyes.

"That's a pretty low bar, though," Steve pointed out. "I would hope this place has more to recommend it than "better than Hydra." Bucky shrugged and glanced out the window. Steve shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Is there anything you need? I know you didn't have much with you in Bucharest, so I did bring you some clothes and things. I guess they had to search the stuff first."

"You didn't have to do that," Bucky replied, genuine surprise in his voice.

"I know," Steve said, the faintest smile playing around his mouth. "But I wanted to. It's been a long time since you've had someone in your corner, Buck. You could use some reminders of what that's like." The door to the visiting room opened, and Natalie came in with two paper bags brimming with clothing that she set down next to Bucky.

"Here are the things you can have," she said breezily. "The shaver we put in your bin behind the desk. You can use it with supervision. Razors aren't allowed on the unit. The aftershave has alcohol, so that's not allowed on the unit. The radio you can't have because it's too big and it has a cord." Bucky's eyes widened. He stared down into the bags, filled to the brim with the items Steve had brought, and looked back at the other man in shock.

"Some clothes and things?" he repeated incredulously, picking up one of the bags. "This is too much." Steve shook his head.

"Well, I figure I've got about seventy years of birthdays and Christmases to make up for, so this is a good start, at least," he said seriously.

"If you're going to do that, at least remember the gift from two years ago," Bucky reminded him. Steve gave him a confused look. "You nearly let me kill you trying to remind me who I was. Who I used to be. And it worked. If it wasn't for you, I'm sure I would have gone down with the rest of them. Or possibly… disposed of." Steve's eyes widened.

"I didn't do anything for you that you wouldn't have done for me," he demurred. Bucky wasn't completely convinced that was true, but he wasn't about to argue with his oldest friend. Instead, he began pulling items out of the bag. Several white sleeveless undershirts, t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, jeans, a couple sweatshirts with hoods were in the first bag. The second bag held a few books, a dozen socks, and a variety of underwear. He raised his eyebrows at Steve.

"You brought me… underwear?" he asked incredulously. Steve's cheeks turned pink.

"I wasn't sure what kind you'd prefer, now that they have more options," he admitted. "I was going to return the ones you didn't want, but now that they've taken them out of the packages, I guess that's out." He focused a level gaze on Bucky. "Or do you not need any underwear?"

"I could use a few," Bucky conceded. He'd just gone from having one outfit that he washed daily to enough clothing that he wouldn't have to wash his clothes again for a week. He picked up one of the t-shirts. Most of them were unmarked, but this one had the letter I, a heart and NY in bold font. He held it up towards Steve with a raised eyebrow. Steve chuckled slightly.

"That one was Natasha's idea," he admitted. Bucky smiled, but Steve wasn't looking at him now, he was staring out the window over Bucky's shoulder. "Who's that guy?" he asked. Bucky twisted around to see Dominic walking away.

"That's just Dominic," Bucky said dismissively. "I know he looks a little strange at first, but he's harmless."

"A little strange?" Steve repeated. "What about that woman I saw when I first came in? The one with the bandages on her arms?"

"She… had a tough day today," Bucky said softly. He didn't know Celie very well, but she had never given him any trouble.

"Yeah, but what did they  _do_  to her?" Steve hissed urgently. Bucky took a deep breath as it clicked that Steve didn't know her wounds were self-inflicted. Before he could explain, Steve leaned forward urgently. "And what are they doing to you? You look rough."

"Gee, thanks," Bucky said sarcastically. "I just… have trouble sleeping." Steve shook his head.

"I don't like this place, Buck. We have to break you out of here. You don't belong here."

"Don't I, Steve?" Bucky challenged quietly. "I can't trust my own mind. I don't know everything that Hydra did to me, or how much might still be there. Maybe they can help me. Maybe this is exactly where I need to be right now. It isn't as terrible as it looks at first." He was half-surprised to find himself defending them, but there was a grain of truth in it, too. "Besides, if I really wanted to leave, I could." Steve looked at him intently, that familiar wrinkle in between his eyebrows. After a moment, he sighed and looked down.

"If you say so, Buck," he said, though he didn't sound convinced. There was a long, awkward silence. Bucky searched for a neutral topic.

"Have you tried the bananas lately?" he asked. "I mean, maybe it's just here, and I'll admit my memory isn't great, but I could have sworn bananas used to taste different." Steve grinned and relaxed slightly.

"You're not wrong," he confirmed. "I looked into it myself. Apparently, the type of banana we grew up with got wiped out in the fifties. Something called Panama disease." He shook his head slightly. "Shame, because the ones they have now aren't nearly as good." Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he commented.

"Food's better now, otherwise," Steve added. "More variety, fresher. They don't boil everything into mush. And the things they come up with… the other day, I saw a jar with peanut butter and jelly already combined." Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"No kidding?" he asked incredulously. Steve nodded.

"Really. And they have bacon-flavored everything," he continued. "Ice cream, gum, soda, cotton candy, vodka, toothpaste…" He made an expansive gesture. "Everything." Bucky frowned. Bacon was tasty for breakfast, on the rare occasions he'd had it, but this seemed excessive.

"But why?" he asked. Steve shrugged.

"I've tried asking, but all anyone ever tells me is 'because it's bacon.'"

* * *

_He was walking down the street, hood pulled low over his face. He wanted to stay hidden, and in the chill of winter and the crowd, it was easy enough, but the uneasiness remained. His shoulder blades itched, though, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. A face appeared in the window above, glancing down at him, and his pace quickened. As he reached the end of the block, a man stepped out in front of him, his features severe and uniform familiar. He reached out and grabbed Bucky's arm, but Bucky pulled away and took off running in the opposite direction. He reached the end of the block, only to stop short as another shadowy figure appeared before him. He changed direction again, charging across the street, heart pounding. The buildings seemed to have shifted, rearranging themselves into a blockade, penning him in. He was starting to attract attention now, as more people in the crowd began to turn to look at him. His stomach suddenly lurched as he realized they were Hydra, too. All of them. There was no escape; he was about to be captured. Returned to his handlers, no doubt, for torture and reprogramming, turned again into a nameless killer._

_Not if he could help it. He darted and wove through the crowd, frantic to escape. Someone grabbed his arm, hard, and he turned and punched them, throwing them off balance enough that he could get away. He reached a wall and attempted to scale it, but his feet could find no purchase. He turned and found himself face to face with a woman, flanked on both sides by a never-ending line of soldiers, guns trained on him. He did not fear their bullets. Death was preferable to becoming the Winter Soldier again. The woman reached up and caressed his face, then pressed her lips to his. The gesture was confusingly out of place in this threatening setting, and he didn't trust it for a moment. Catching her by the throat, he pushed her away, raising her up until her feet couldn't touch the ground. She let out a strangled scream, clutching at his arm._

Suddenly, the lights turned on, and someone was shouting his name. Bucky blinked in the unexpected illumination, confusion suddenly giving way to realization like a punch to his gut. He was not on a dark street in Romania, he was in his hospital room. Dangling from his extended arm was not a female Hydra agent, but Megan. He dropped her as if she had burned him, and she collapsed in a gasping, wailing heap on the floor. Judging by her state of undress, she had come with intentions other than violently attacking him. Janette, the night nurse, stared at him with large, round eyes and a stunned expression, then crouched down by Megan to check her over. He took two steps back and sat down hard on the bed. He buried his face in his hands, the sound of rushing in his ears almost drowning out the sound of the code being called overhead. When he looked up again, his room was filled with nurses and security guards. Janette led a still-sobbing Megan out of the room, a blanket draped over her shoulders. One of the security guards stepped closer to Bucky.

"Are you going to give us any trouble?" he asked. Bucky slowly shook his head. The man gestured, and Bucky stood, walking in the direction the man indicated. The others fell into formation, two next to him and two behind, the others stepping aside to make room. They marched him down the hall and into the small brick room with blank walls and a mat on the floor. The door closed behind him, and he flinched as he heard the lock slide into place. Slowly, he sank down onto the mat, folding his arms across the top of his bent knees and resting his head on his forearms. He didn't want to be in here, but he knew why he was. He was dangerous, he was a menace, he was a threat. He had hurt Megan, although he didn't know how badly. She hadn't deserved that. But then, neither had the other people he'd harmed. He tilted his head back against the painted cinder block wall behind him. Someone peered through the little window in the big metal door that sealed him in this tiny room but didn't say anything. Bucky put his head back down. He wasn't likely to sleep again tonight, no matter where he was.

* * *

He didn't know how much time had passed, though his muscles were starting to protest from remaining in one position for so long. He started to hear more noise from the room behind him. It must be the start of day shift. There was one narrow window, high above his head, and given the layout of the unit, it bordered on the chart room. It wasn't nearly as soundproof as they apparently thought it was.

" _…happened with Megan, now?"_

_"She's got some reddened areas that will probably turn into bruises, but otherwise seems okay. She was transferred to Echo at 6."_

_"About damn time, too."_

_"Hannah!"_

_"What? You know her history. We should have transferred her as soon as she fixated on him."_

_"Right, because he never did anything to encourage her."_

_"Not that I saw. She never should have been able to get into his room. Where is he now?"_

_"Still in seclusion."_

_"Why? Was he still being threatening?"_

_"No, but I wasn't going to risk it. You didn't see it, Hannah. He's dangerous. You are far too trusting. You let a pretty face compromise your judgement."_

_"Just because you're the poster child for compassion fatigue doesn't mean that everyone who sees some good in our patients is a sucker, Janette."_

_"Where are you going?"_

_"I'm going to talk to him and see if he's ready to come out."_

_"Are you suicidal? What are you going to do if he attacks you?"_

If Hannah answered the question, Bucky didn't catch it. A few moments later, a knock came from the door. He looked up to see Hannah watching him. She slid open a little metal panel.

"If I come in there, are you going to hurt me?" she asked him bluntly. He winced at the question but shook his head. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. He didn't move. Hannah came into the tiny room and, much to his surprise, knelt down in front of him. "Bucky, what happened?" He'd already replayed the night's events over and over in his head a thousand times, but he wasn't sure he wanted to give her a complete narrative.

"I attacked Megan," he admitted. Another wave of guilt washed over him as he said the words out loud. "I hurt her."

"But why?" Hannah prodded. "It's out of character for you." He stared at her.

"Because I'm dangerous," he said bitterly. "What do you know about my character?"

"I know that I've seen you walk away from situations that would have provoked many people into fighting," she observed.

"So I'm a coward?" he asked. Maybe it was true. He had run away and hidden for two years until they found him again. Hannah shook her head.

"You're a man of your word," she reasoned. "You told me you weren't here to fight, and you haven't, up until now. So I know there must have been a reason. Megan shouldn't have been in your room in the first place. What happened… before you attacked her?" Bucky took in a shaky breath and debated silently for a moment.

"I was asleep," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was… caught in a dream… Hydra was about to capture me. I was fighting them off, except… It wasn't them, it was Megan. I didn't realize it until they turned the light on." Hannah's eyes widened.

"That sounds like a nightmare to me," she observed. Bucky didn't answer but didn't disagree. Hannah smoothed her hands down the tops of her thighs. "So, Bucky, if I let you out of here, what do you plan to do?" Bucky frowned at her. He'd figured he would be in here for a day or two, at least.

"I don't know. Not fight anyone." He was sure there was a correct answer to the question, and that was probably part of it.

"Have you slept?" Hannah asked. He gave her a disbelieving look.

"That's kind of what started this trouble," he reminded her.

"No, that was five hours ago. I mean since then," Hannah clarified. He shook his head. "I know that being in here isn't the most restful. Why don't you go lay down in your room?" She stood and offered him her hand. "Megan was transferred to a different unit, so you won't have to worry about her anymore." He ignored her hand, but stood, muscles screaming from being asked to move after sitting still for so long. Hannah led the way out of the seclusion room, and he followed docilely. He could see people in the dayroom eating breakfast, but he didn't have any appetite. He started to head to his room, then paused. Changing course, he went to the open med room window instead.

"Can I get that pill Dr. Greenmyer wants me to try?" he asked. Samantha gave him a surprised look, but nodded.

"Of course." She pulled a drawer open and put the same small blue pill into a little paper cup. She pushed it across the counter to him along with a larger paper cup half-full of water. Bucky regarded the medication for a moment, then popped it into his mouth and chased it with the water. Setting the paper cups back down on the ledge, he turned and walked back to his room. It didn't look different, which surprised him given what had happened there. He sat down on the edge of the bed facing the window and stared at the tiny slices of light shining through the closed blinds.


	8. Day 21

The unit was markedly quieter with Megan gone. None of the other patients seemed to know what had happened, or if they did, nobody mentioned it to him. He started to attend more of the groups. He always picked the chair nearest to the door, and he didn't say much, but he went, and sat, and listened. Sometimes they did crafts or played games, which he was reluctant to participate in, but occasionally did anyway. Sometimes, it was a more structured format, and he learned a few things. Things like coping skills, identifying negative and self-defeating thought patterns, different mental disorders along with symptoms and possible treatments, ways to cope with symptoms. His journal was starting to become tattered and worn, with extra pages slipped in between as he added worksheets and handouts with notes and thoughts in the margins.

When Laura came and got him for the next cooking class, he found that he was looking forward to it. It was nice to get off the unit and stretch his legs, and learning to cook at least stopped the incessant march of thoughts tromping through his brain like an invading army. Plus, the company was tolerable, and the food was tasty. Steve had been back to visit every evening, and Bucky was starting to look forward to that, too. His twice-weekly meetings with Deborah were… well, not exactly enjoyable, but he didn't dread them anymore. He'd never been one to discuss his feelings, and the Army and Hydra did little to change those habits. Now that he was being encouraged to talk about the things men never revealed, it was a little strange, somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, but surprisingly… freeing.

He still wasn't sleeping well at night, waking even more often since the night Megan got into his room. He wasn't certain if he should be feeling any differently from the medication or not. According to Dr. Greenmyer, it could take several weeks before the full effect, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't getting any effect at all, intended or otherwise. Nights were still full of interruptions, between his fitful dreams and the frequent noises that startled him out of his sleep.

* * *

He awakened to the sound of voices, louder than they normally would be this time of night. His window was still dark. He tried to ignore them at first, but when they persisted, he got up to investigate. The clock above the nurses station told him it was a little after 2AM. He tensed as he recognized Alec and Rob hanging out at the desk. The nurse behind the desk was one he had seen but not been introduced to.

"…know what the best part about fucking a pregnant chick is?" Alec asked loudly.

"The huge tits?" Rob guessed, leering openly at hers. Alec scoffed.

"Naw, man. You don't have to worry about knocking her up, 'cause someone already did," he concluded, gesturing to the nurse's round abdomen. She was standing as far away behind the desk as she could get from the two men, a chair positioned in front of her.

"You two need to leave the desk right now, or I'm going to call security," she warned, one hand on the telephone. Alec chortled.

"Why?" he taunted. "Do you think they'll want to join in, too?" She glanced at Bucky apprehensively as he drew closer to the desk, her fear evident on her face. He frowned at the two bullies.

"Are you both deaf, or just stupid?" he challenged them. "She asked you to leave."

"Relax, Bucky," Alec sneered, adding a mocking tone to the name. "We're just having a little fun." Bucky looked from the men to the wide-eyed and apprehensive nurse and back again.

"Really?" he asked skeptically. "Because she doesn't look like she's having much fun." Alec straightened up, turning his shoulders to face Bucky.

"Are you gonna make something of it, freak?" he asked. Bucky leaned casually against the desk. He usually wore shirts with sleeves on the unit, but had gone to bed wearing one of the white sleeveless undershirts Steve had brought him. He was very much aware that his metal arm was much more on display than it usually would be.

"Doesn't have to be something," he said calmly. "You can just leave and go to bed, like she said. Then it's nothing." Alec tried to stare him down, but Bucky wasn't easily intimidated. He stared back, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the nursing station. The metallic tap-tap-tap echoed in the tense silence. The nurse glanced nervously from Bucky to Alec, her hand still on the telephone receiver.

"We ain't afraid of you," Rob put in challengingly from behind Alec. Before Bucky could reply, Alec charged at him. Bucky easily sidestepped the right hook that came sailing towards him, and caught Alec's wrist in his right hand. Alec's momentum carried him into the desk of the nursing station, and Bucky stepped closer, pinning the smaller man against the desk with his arm twisted behind his back. Alec struggled to get free but was no match for Bucky's strength. Bucky glanced at Rob and flexed his metal arm. Rob slowly backed away, eyes wide. Bucky looked back towards the nurse, who had the phone to her ear but was watching them, not saying anything. Alec grunted, and Bucky leaned in a little harder.

"Let me up, man!" Alec protested.

"First, I think you owe her an apology," Bucky admonished him. Alec made a sound halfway between a grunt and a snort.

"Fuck you, I'm not gonna… aah!" Alec's refusal turned into a cry of pain as Bucky pushed his arm higher up his back, adding a little more twist to the wrist. "Fine, fine! I'm sorry!" Bucky released Alec's arm and stepped back.

"Better," he said evenly. "Now go back to your rooms and don't come out til morning." Alec rubbed his shoulder and glared at Bucky but retreated down the hall. Rob slunk back to his room as well. Bucky watched until their doors closed before turning his attention back to the nurse. She hung up the phone and sat down hard in the chair, exhaling loudly.

"Thanks," she said shakily. Bucky shook his head incredulously.

"I can't believe they talked to you that way," he said. She chuckled humorlessly.

"Believe it or not, I've heard worse," she replied ruefully.

"Can't you throw them in that little room when they're being assholes like that?" he asked. She smiled but shook her head.

"Believe me, sometimes I wish I could," she admitted. "They were being crude and vulgar, but it wasn't until just before you came out that they started to make me worried they might actually try something." She smoothed her scrubs over her pregnant stomach and turned around the work ID that said Bridget, RN. "If you hadn't gotten up, I think that could have gotten a lot uglier. So thank you, again." Bucky glanced over his shoulder towards Alec's room, and heard the door shut again. He wasn't about to leave her alone, just in case they came prowling as soon as he left. He leaned on the desk and noticed a thick textbook open on the lower desk near her.

"Is that your book?" he asked. Bridget grinned and nodded.

"Yeah. I'm in school to be a clinical nurse specialist. I'm in the last semester, so I'm really hoping the baby waits until after finals to come," she sighed.

"What are you studying there?" he inquired.

"Psychopharmacology," she replied, turning another page. Bucky's eyebrows raised.

"Sounds advanced," he noted. She chuckled.

"It is, but it's also very interesting. There's a lot of medications that are used in psychiatry that are off-label uses. They're technically meant for other issues, but used in behavioral health because of a side effect. Anti-seizure medications are used for mood stabilization, beta blockers are used to trigger the parasympathetic nervous system and reduce restlessness and akathisia, anticholinergics can help with side effects…" Bucky had no clue what she was talking about, but listened anyway. Bridget stopped rambling and smiled hesitantly. "But enough about that. What are you doing up?"

"I heard voices," he explained simply, then frowned slightly. Given the place, he should probably be more specific. "Your voices, out here, I mean. I don't hear…." He gestured to his head, and Bridget nodded understanding.

"Do you have trouble sleeping, Bucky?" she asked. "I've noticed you have a lot of restless nights." He considered denying it, but really, what was the point?

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Nightmares?" she asked next. He nodded slowly. "Do you want something to help you sleep?"

"Like what?" he asked. She turned and pushed off against the floor with both feet, sending the rolling chair across the nurses station to where she had left the medication record. She flipped through a few sheets before stopping to scan down a page.

"Well, it looks like Dr. Greenmyer ordered Ambien for you," she said, sounding puzzled. Bucky frowned.

"What's Ambien?" he asked.

"It's a sleep aid, but it's not one they prescribe routinely," she explained.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, it can be addictive," she replied. "And it can have some wild side effects."

"Like what?" he asked warily.

"Tachycardia, blurred vision, memory loss, nightmares, nausea, even blackouts," she noted, turning and paging through her textbook. "People do all kinds of things, like cooking, sleepwalking, sleep eating… and then they have no memory of it the next day." Bucky shuddered slightly.

"I don't think I want to try that, no," he said flatly. "Are there… other options?"

"Well, Trazodone is pretty routinely prescribed," she said thoughtfully. "But in your case, Prazosin might be a better option."

"What's that?" Bucky asked.

"Technically, it's a blood pressure pill," Bridget responded. "But it's also used in cases of PTSD to reduce nightmares." Bucky raised his eyebrows. They had medications for damn near everything now, apparently. "You don't have it ordered right now, but you could discuss it with when you meet with him again." Bucky nodded slowly.

"Could you write the name down for me?" he asked hesitantly. He didn't much trust his memory these days. Bridget nodded enthusiastically.

"I'll do you one better. I can give you a handout on it, with side effects and everything." She slid over behind the computer and started tapping on the keyboard. Bucky waited patiently. She got up a few minutes later and walked slowly back into the chart room, emerging a few seconds later with two sheets of paper, which she slid across the desk to Bucky. "There you go!"

"Thanks," Bucky said, pulling the sheets of paper towards him. Bridget nodded.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked, not unkindly. The sound of a door opening came from the chart room, and they both looked in that direction to see a sleepy-looking Levon come back onto the unit. Bridget's eyes flashed annoyance, but Bucky felt relief that she was no longer alone.

"No, I'm good," he decided. He waved the papers at her. "I'll just go back to bed." She nodded.

"Okay. I hope you can get some good sleep. Thanks again for your help." She stood and waddled back to the chart room. "Fine time for you to go take a nap," she hissed at Levon. Bucky half-smiled to himself as he headed back to his room.


	9. Day 27

Bucky awakened in a relatively good mood for once. He had plenty of time for a shower and breakfast before morning meeting. It had been nearly a month, and he was finally starting to feel settled into his routine. He saw Laura gathering her papers in the chart room and glanced at the clock. Morning meeting would be starting in a couple more minutes. He found his usual place in the dayroom. No sooner had he sat down when Hannah approached with a big smile on her face.

"Bucky, good news!" she announced cheerfully. "The team has noticed that you've been going to groups, so they increased your level to Silver. Congratulations!" He nodded at her, as she seemed to expect it. She grinned and moved on, leaving him in confusion as he tried to remember what this new status meant. His musings were interrupted by Laura's arrival and the start of group.

"And before the meeting is adjourned, we have a special announcement," Laura proclaimed. "Today is Travis' last day with us. He is being discharged this afternoon." She held up a golden coin. "Travis, I wish you the best of luck with this next step in your journey. I know that you have both the wisdom and strength to stay the course and thrive in your recovery." She passed the coin to Kara, who was sitting next to her. The mousy woman's voice was almost too soft to be heard as she added her well-wishes for Travis. Bucky suddenly found it difficult to concentrate on everyone's words. He was surprised by his emotional response to the news that his friend's departure was imminent. He had avoided attachments during the two years he was on the run from Hydra, moving from city to city, region to region, country to country. Some places he settled a little longer than others. They all were filled with strange faces, strange customs. He just kept his head down, learned enough of the local language to get by, found honest – if not always legal – ways to earn enough to keep a roof over his head and food in his belly. It was a lonely existence, but it was more than he'd had with Hydra. Here he was forced to remember what it was like to have regular human interaction. To make friends. Along with that came the inevitable downside when they had to leave. He was going to miss Travis.

He unfroze as the coin drifted into his peripheral vision, and he reached out for it. On one side was a scene featuring a winding path leading up into mountains. On the other side, the phrase, "One Day at a Time" was inscribed. He curled his fingers around it and looked over at Travis.

"Good luck," he said softly. "I'm glad I met you." It seemed inadequate, but they were the best words he could muster in the moment. Travis smiled slightly and nodded towards Bucky, who handed the coin off to Tim, sitting to his left.

The meeting ended, and Bucky exited the dayroom, turning to go back to his room.

"Mail for James Barnes!" Ted announced at the desk. Bucky frowned. He wasn't expecting any mail. Ted slid two envelopes across the desk to him. He picked up the top one and opened it. His frown deepened as he read the letters inside. This couldn't possibly be right.

"Is Claire in?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"It's a little early yet, but I can check," Ted replied. Bucky nodded, waiting patiently as the tech disappeared behind through the door in the chart room. He occupied himself by reading through the letter again. He opened the second letter and found that its contents were similar. He blinked down at the paper and shook his head slightly.

"Yes, Bucky, can I help you?" Claire said as she emerged from the side door. Bucky pushed the letters across the counter towards her. She picked them up, and her face brightened. "Oh, you finally got your checks! I thought they would be more prompt with the back pay, but I suppose that's too much to expect from the VA."

"Is that… this one?" Bucky asked, holding up the check with more numbers on it than he had ever seen before. Claire nodded. Bucky shook his head. It almost seemed like some kind of joke. There was no way a check that size could be real. "Is that…. Correct?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's close to what my calculations were. A little bigger. But you have to consider inflation adjustments, pay grade increases, scale adjustments for time served…" She shrugged. "Do you think it should be more?" Bucky shook his head slightly, scoffing.

"No, this is… fine. But they have me listed as First Sergeant. I never made it that far; I was only a regular Sergeant when I was… in the Army," he pointed out. Claire nodded.

"When you're a prisoner of war, they have to give you rank increases as you would have been eligible for them in the Army," she explained. Bucky's eyes widened.

"And this?" he asked, holding the other letter up. Claire nodded.

"That's your monthly check. You should continue to receive those each month," she elucidated. Bucky exhaled slowly. It was significantly more than he remembered getting from the Army the last time he was in a position to collect it.

"So what do I do with all of this?" he muttered, mostly to himself, but Claire still heard.

"If it were me, I would deposit those in the patient bank down in the Mall for safe keeping," she answered. "You can withdraw a bit to use here as personal needs money, and then have a nice little nest egg when you're discharged." Bucky let out a low chuckle at the understatement.

"Maybe I'll buy you a diamond necklace as a thank you for helping me with this," he commented. It was the most ridiculous, extravagant thing he could think of, and he was feeling a little dizzy from all the numbers on his check. Claire laughed softly, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"I appreciate the thought, Bucky, but I couldn't accept something like that," she informed him. "And remember, things are a lot more expensive now than they were in the 40's."

"I know that," he assured her. "Are you telling me that this isn't much money now?"

"It's not as much as you are thinking it is, but… it's still a lot," she confirmed. "You could buy a car and a house and still have plenty left over." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you like some business cards for financial advisers?"

"I might," he said, narrowing his eyes at her. She was smiling slightly, and there was a twinkle in her eye. "You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, it's not that often I get to give this kind of news," she admitted. "Usually I have to tell people that they have to reapply for funding, or that their placement fell through, or that they have to spend down all their assets to qualify for insurance. It's much more satisfying to give good news." She gestured at the checks in Bucky's hand. "This is a very different problem than I usually have to solve for most people."

"This is a problem?" Bucky asked incredulously.

"Are you accustomed to managing this kind of money?" she replied with a little smirk.

"Maybe," Bucky hedged. He wasn't, not in the least. He was much more used to barely scraping by. Claire didn't need to know that, though. He figured he had some time before he had to worry about it, though. He could let the money sit in their bank until they let him leave. There wasn't much here to spend his money on anyway.

"Sure you are," she said, her lips curved into a disbelieving smile. "Do you have any other questions?" Bucky slowly shook his head. "Okay. If you think of any, let the nurses know and I can come back." He nodded acknowledgement. She turned and went back through the door she had come out of. He stood at the desk another moment or two, staring at the letters, before he returned to his room.

* * *

Cooking class was fun and informative, as usual. They learned about marinades and grilled meat on little electric grills lined up on the counter like squat little culinary soldiers. Ashley still watched with wide eyes whenever Bucky was using a knife, and he had noticed that extra food often appeared on his cutting board when he was focused on his slicing. They prepared asparagus and roasted baby red potatoes as sides, and made a Parmesan and Gruyere sauce for the sides while Laura gave them a crash course in different cheeses. By the time the food was ready to eat, Bucky was ravenous. The others must have been, too, because nobody said anything for the first ten minutes. The only sound was contented munching. Ashley never stayed quiet for long, though, and soon was regaling them with a story of something that had happened on her unit the night before. Mostly, Bucky was content to listen and eat the food he had cooked.

* * *

By the time he arrived back on the unit, there was a cart parked by the nursing station with several paper bags piled on it. He frowned slightly, but in the next moment Travis appeared. His face brightened when he saw Bucky.

"Oh, good, you made it back in time for me to say bye before I go," Travis said cheerfully. He extended his hand towards Bucky. Bucky grasped the big man's hand to shake it, and found himself being pulled into a hug. Travis thumped him heartily on the back, then let him go.

"Take care of yourself, Travis," Bucky said softly. Travis chuckled.

"That's the plan," he agreed. "I'm thinking of getting 'Take Your Meds, Idiot" tattooed backwards on my forehead. What do you think?" Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, somewhere less obvious might work, too," he replied diplomatically. Travis laughed out loud.

"Man, I'm gonna miss you. Give me your phone number, I'll try to stay in touch," he requested. Bucky shrugged.

"I don't have a phone," he said. Travis' eyes widened in disbelief.

"Really? Okay, how about an email?" Bucky shook his head. Travis scoffed. "Really? No phone, no email? How do people get ahold of you?" Bucky grinned wryly.

"Generally, they don't," he said with a shrug. "The last person who was trying to find me did it by bombing the UN in Vienna." Travis shook his head.

"So what you're saying is, you're a hard man to find," he chuckled. Bucky made a sheepish gesture. "Well, here's my number. Maybe you can look me up after you get out of this place." He handed Bucky a folded-up scrap of paper. Bucky slipped it into his pocket furtively, glancing at the desk. They weren't supposed to exchange personal information. Nobody came out to scold him. Travis nodded at the woman who came through the unit doors. "There's my case manager. See you around, Bucky."

* * *

Bucky was slightly confused a few hours later when the cart with the supper trays arrived on the unit, but his tray was not on it. Marguerite shook her head at him.

"You got Silver Level today, Bucky, remember? You go down to the main dining room for supper now," she reminded him. He nodded slowly.

He lined up with the others at the doors an hour later, hanging back at the end of the line. They walked down the long, curved hallway, skirting the green courtyard that was tantalizingly close but out of bounds at the moment. They walked by the Mall area that Bucky had been able to visit earlier that day to open an account and deposit his checks, and by the Fitness Center that Bucky hadn't yet investigated. They lined up along the wall outside the cafeteria and slowly filed through as servers piled food onto their trays. Bucky was suddenly reminded of the mess hall back in his Army days. Now that he was learning to cook and appreciate freshly cooked food, the institutional fare was looking less appealing, but he had eaten worse. He hesitated as he reached the end of the line and stood at the edge of the cafeteria. It was a large, echoey room with a dozen long tables set up in two rows. The various conversations bounced off the walls and ceiling, overlapping and drowning out thoughts. He could see only one exit, a door in the far corner that led back into the hallway. There were at least forty people in the room between him and the ability to escape.

"Hey, Iron Chef is here!" A familiar voice called out. Bucky focused on the sound, and found that Brandon was waving at him. The other man gestured him over, waving at an empty seat at his table. Bucky was acutely aware that suddenly many eyes were on him, but he crossed over and sat down at Brandon's table. Brandon nudged the man sitting next to him and gestured to Bucky. "This is that guy I was telling you about. The one that's a wizard with a knife." The man grunted and eyed Bucky, sizing him up.

"Maybe he can handle a knife, but what about a gun?" he quipped. Bucky's lips twitched.

"I've handled one on occasion," he admitted.

"Yeah? You ever, like, roll it to the side and just, blam, blam, blam?" Brandon's friend asked, demonstrating with gestures. Laughter rolled around the table. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe for cover fire, but you can't reliably hit anything that way," he said dryly.

"Oh yeah? And you can 'reliably hit' shit?" The man's tone was skeptical. Bucky shrugged and dug into his entrée.

"Used to be a sniper in the Army," he said calmly. He didn't intend to elaborate on that, but he didn't need to. An awed hush fell over the table.

"Dude," one of the other guys intoned under his breath. Brandon grinned.

"Told you guys I wasn't exaggerating," he declared. Bucky took another bite of food and hoped he wasn't going to be the center of attention for the entire meal. It wasn't long before his table companions had taken up their easy banter and moved on to other subjects. He wasn't entirely comfortable, but he was less ill at ease than he had been initially. Maybe eating in the cafeteria wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

He ducked out of his room to check the clock. Visiting hour was from 6:30 to 7:30 every evening, and he was starting to anticipate Steve's visits. As the minute hand clicked closer to the six, he wandered out and into the dayroom, trying to distract himself from the time with the television.

"Bucky!" Sarah called from the doorway, and he glanced over at her. She smiled. "Visitor's on his way down. Want me to open the visiting room for you?" He nodded, and followed her to the end of the hallway. A few minutes later, the visiting room door opened, and Steve came in. Bucky smiled at his friend.

"Hey, Steve," he greeted him. "I have something for you, this time." Steve looked at him with surprise and a little curiosity. Pulling out the cash he'd gotten at the mall, he presented it to his friend with a flourish. Steve took it with a frown.

"What's this?" he asked.

"You keep bringing me things," Bucky reminded him. "You should let me pay you back for them." Steve shook his head.

"That's not how gifts work, Buck," Steve said, nonplussed.

"Well, at least maybe next time you won't have to spend your money to get me something," Bucky argued. He did appreciate Steve's gifts, but he didn't like feeling like a charity case. He had fought hard to stay under the radar and self-sufficient after leaving Hydra, but now every stitch of clothing he owned had been given to him.

"If it's that important, I'll take your money," Steve allowed, slipping the bills into his pocket. He frowned slightly. "Though if you don't mind my asking, where did you get the cash? You running an underground poker night here?" Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

"Let me tell you about the day I've had," he said, settling into one of the chairs.


	10. Day 36

Empty beds in a state-run facility didn't stay empty for long. After Travis left, a tall, lanky man arrived on the unit. He wore sunglasses indoors, even at night, and carried a Bible around with him like a security blanket. Bucky attempted to engage him in conversation once, but after getting a disjointed rant about demons trying to take over the world and the coming of the end of days, he gave Paul a wide berth instead. Rob left a few days later, and the next day a new face arrived. He looked young, broad-shouldered and strong. Bucky's first impression of him was that he seemed exceedingly… normal. He found himself wondering why the kid was there. He was well-groomed, well-spoken, and seemed at ease, smiling at the nurses as they checked through his belongings. Bucky took note and filed his questions away for later. He would figure the new guy out soon enough.

* * *

"…and it was like that… every time they woke me up." His voice was soft and strained as he stared at his hands folded in his lap. Deborah sat silently across from him, not even moving until it was clear he was finished talking. Then she shifted slightly in her chair, dabbing surreptitiously at the corners of her eyes.

"And then they would send you on missions like that?" she supplied. He nodded.

"Sometimes it was like being stuck in a nightmare that I couldn't wake up from, where I would watch myself do things but I couldn't do anything to stop it, change it. Other times, it was just… nothing. I would wake up again the next time with no memory of the lost time, what I'd done. And sometimes it was in and out, where I would be there for flashes, and then dark again." He couldn't look at her. For some reason, it was easier to talk about what had been done to him than what he remembered of the things he'd done while under their influence. Even the things he hadn't been conscious for came back to haunt his nightmares.

"Have you ever had one of those… episodes without them using the trigger words?" she asked him next. He looked up at her with horror and surprise.

"Is that… do you think that's possible?" he asked. His mind reeled. The thought that he could conceivably lose control and go on a violent rampage without anyone else triggering it made his blood run cold and his stomach lurch.

"I mean, there is a name for what you're describing," Deborah said carefully. "It sounds like a dissociative episode. They are usually caused by a person being exposed to enough trauma that the mind kind of… fractures, splits. As a way to cope. But I've never heard of anyone that had it done to them deliberately. It almost sounds like they purposely created enough trauma to split off… a piece of you that they could control." Bucky contemplated her words and slowly nodded.

"That makes sense," he replied meditatively. "I wouldn't agree to help them voluntarily, so they found a way to… ensure my loyalty." Deborah gave him an incredulous look.

"I mean, yes, from that perspective, it might make a brutal kind of sense," Deborah conceded. "But Bucky, that's absolutely horrifying. Even in wartime, when prisoners were tortured, it was to get information or to make an example. The pain and suffering were a means to an end, secondary to their purpose. In your case, the pain and suffering was the entire point. From a human perspective, from a psychological perspective, that might be the cruelest thing I've ever heard of. The fact that you weren't driven completely mad is… impressive. Some might even say miraculous."

"Even so, I am here," Bucky pointed out dryly, gesturing to the building around them. Deborah nodded.

"You are. You are here, in this room, with me, having a calm and rational discussion about the awful things that they did to, quite literally, break you. Your resilience is, quite frankly, astounding." She leaned forward earnestly and waited for him to look her in the eye. "You are far more than what they did to you, Bucky." Bucky scoffed quietly and dropped his gaze back to the floor.

"If you say so," he murmured. She nodded emphatically.

"You are," she affirmed. "And I think that you've already made progress. The more you talk about what was done to you, the less power it will have over you. Maybe by the time you're ready to leave here, you'll be able to actually feel like a part of society."

"If they ever decide that I can leave," Bucky grumbled. Deborah smiled.

"I don't think that you need to worry too much about that," she murmured, then glanced at her watch. "Looks like that's time. See you again on Wednesday."

"Right," Bucky grunted, and stood up.

* * *

Dr. Greenmyer sat back and regarded Bucky calmly. He folded his arms over his chest and returned the doctor's look.

"Nothing?" Dr. Greenmyer asked dubiously. Bucky shrugged.

"Not that I've noticed," he replied. Dr. Greenmyer steepled his fingers and looked over them at his patient.

"So, no side effects, but you're not sure if it's helping, either." Bucky nodded agreement with the doctor's summation. "You know, the nurses have noticed a change. They say you're less withdrawn, less reactive, brighter affect… not such a depressed expression."

"And they are the experts on how I feel, not me?" Bucky replied tersely. Dr. Greenmyer shook his head with a chuckle.

"No, of course not. But they do have experience, and they're good at noticing things like that. You're already at the top recommended dosage. We could leave it there for a couple more weeks, see if you start noticing more benefit from it. Or, given your unique physiology, we could increase the dose and see if that helps you to feel more of a difference." Dr. Greenmyer looked expectantly at Bucky, who blinked.

"You're… asking me? I'm not an expert in medications," he asked after a long moment's pause made it clear that the doctor was waiting for a response from him.

"No, but you are the expert on your own experience, how you feel, and what you're comfortable with," Dr. Greenmyer pointed out. "We don't have to make any changes today. If you want to wait another week, we can do that. It's not a race. And nothing we decide is final, so we can always make changes later. So, what are your thoughts? Should be increase the dose? Or give it another week or two?" Bucky blinked at his psychiatrist.

"Well, I mean… I guess I assumed the standard doses wouldn't really work for me," he admitted slowly. "Alcohol doesn't affect me, so I didn't think medications would do anything."

"So, what I am hearing is that you believe an increase in dose would be helpful," Dr. Greenmyer summarized. Bucky shrugged.

"Maybe. We'll see," he responded noncommittally. "Worth a try."

"And the prazosin?" Dr. Greenmyer prompted. "Have your nightmares improved at all?" Bucky sighed, hesitated, then shook his head. "It seems that's due for an increase as well, then."

* * *

Men's group was unpredictable. Sometimes it was dominated by jokes and raucous laughter, sometimes more serious discussion of current topics or things that were on people's minds. Occasionally it veered into deeper waters. Tyler, a program therapist from Bravo unit, came over each week to run the group.

"Okay, guys, just a quick reminder that everything in this group is confidential. Nothing discussed here is discussed outside of group," Tyler began. "Also, let's keep it respectful." He looked pointedly at Alec, sitting across the circle from him. Alec spread his hands defensively.

"What? Why do you look at me when you say that?" he protested.

"It's just a reminder of the rules, Alec," Tyler replied calmly. "If you feel like it's personally directed at you, maybe you should consider being on your best behavior. Then you can be sure it doesn't pertain to you." Bucky smothered a smirk. "We have a new face in the group tonight. What is your name?" Tyler asked to the new arrival from this morning.

"Colin," he introduced himself.

"Welcome, Colin," Tyler replied. "Is there anything you want to share with the group?" Colin shrugged.

"Well, you know. I'm here. Really, it's mostly a big misunderstanding. My girlfriend said that I was partying too much, we get in a fight, and next thing I know, I'm in the hospital and she's telling everyone I'm crazy, and that I attacked her." He rolled his eyes. "Women, am I right?" A couple of the other guys muttered agreement. Bucky held his tongue but had his doubts. Tyler's expression was far from convinced as well.

"Okay," Tyler remarked. "So, let's check in. We'll go around the circle and everyone introduce themselves for Colin, then tell me two things you're thankful for, and one topic you'd like to discuss in group this evening. Bucky, do you want to start us out?" He gestured towards Bucky, who raised his eyebrows, but then shrugged.

"Bucky," he grunted in introduction. "Two things I'm thankful for would be… modern medicine and friends." He didn't elaborate on either of those things. "Nothing specific I want to discuss." Tyler looked slightly disappointed but moved onto the next person. The group slowly warmed up and gained steam. It seemed that even Alec was on his best behavior tonight. Tyler deftly guided the group from one topic to another, not letting any one person dominate the conversation, encouraging those who were hesitant to speak up. He still couldn't manage to get Bucky to say more than a handful of words at a time. The group time was winding down when the program therapist turned his attention to Tim.

"Tim, you've been unusually quiet tonight," Tyler noted. "Is there something on your mind? Anything the group could maybe help with?" Tim scoffed softly and shook his head.

"I don't think so," he grunted, but took a deep breath as he shifted in his chair. "This is just… a hard day for me, is all."

"Why is that?" Alec asked, somehow keeping the smarminess out of his tone. Tim folded his arms over his massive barrel chest.

"Today's the anniversary," he rumbled, then paused. Silence settled over the group as they waited for him to gather his thoughts. "Twelve years ago, I was tweakin' out in my Mustang when I blew through a red light and ran over a woman." He heaved a heavy sigh. "She didn't make it." He stared at the floor intently, as if wishing he could disappear into it. "Most of the year, I can try not to think about it. But this date is burned in my memory. Every year, I swear I'm not going to let it affect me. And every year, I can't get it out of my head." He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "Up until then, I managed to convince myself that using wasn't hurting anyone else. But after that night, I couldn't lie to myself anymore." He shook his head. "After all this time, you'd think the guilt would fade. Maybe it never will."

"Not really." Everyone turned in surprise to look at Bucky as he spoke. Usually he just listened, and rarely contributed. "Sometimes it seems like it's fading, but then something reminds you, and it ambushes you out of nowhere." He frowned thoughtfully. "I think at this point, I would be more worried if it stopped bothering me." Tim raised his eyebrows at him.

"You've killed someone?" he asked, a note of skepticism in his voice. Bucky raised an eyebrow. He must have overplayed the impression of harmlessness in his time on the unit.

"A few," he hedged in understatement. This earned him a few surprised looks, and he shifted in his seat. "I mean, I was in the army."

"How long ago were yours?" Tim inquired. Bucky hesitated. Advertising his age seemed imprudent.

"Sometimes it seems like a lifetime ago," he replied cryptically. Tim raised his eyebrows at the non-answer. The room fell silent

"That's our time for tonight," Tyler said with a glance at the clock. "Thanks, everyone. See you next week." Slowly, everyone stood and left the room. Tyler caught Tim before he headed out the door, engaging him in quiet conversation as the room emptied out.

"Bucky, you have a visitor," Reyna called as she walked by with the rounds board. Bucky frowned. Steve had said he wasn't going to be able to visit for a few days.

"Who is it?" he asked. Reyna shrugged.

"She didn't say. I can let you in," she offered.

"She?" Bucky repeated. Reyna nodded and gestured for him to follow her. He caught a glimpse of red hair and felt as if his heart skipped a beat. Reyna unlocked the door to the visitor's room and opened it. Bucky stepped hesitantly through.

She was standing facing the window, her arms folded over her chest, the setting sun catching her hair and turning it into a flaming halo. She looked over at him, her expression uncertain. He stared at her warily.

"Natalia," he rumbled guardedly. Her eyes widened.

"So you do remember," she breathed.

"I remember… one bright spot in a lot of darkness," he confirmed. "The details are still a little hazy." She took a deep breath and looked down. Bucky gestured to the chairs in the room. "We don't have to stand, you know."

"Right," she sighed, and sat in the chair closest to her. Bucky lowered himself carefully into the seat across from her. "This place isn't quite what I expected. From how Steve talked about it, I half expected them to be torturing you."

"No, they keep that to alternate Tuesdays," he replied dryly. She shot him an incredulous look. He chuckled. "Did you come here just to see what I remembered, or did you have another purpose?" She looked away, glancing out the window.

"I wanted to see you," she admitted after a long pause. "To see… if you were okay."

"Depends how you define okay," Bucky replied curtly. She raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged. "I'm still here. So there's that." She stood and moved to the chair next to him. He watched her intently, unsure if the odd feeling in his stomach was anxiety or something else. She reached up and caressed his cheek, and his breath caught in his throat. Her lips brushed against his, and his head spun with the smell and taste of her. A knock on the window made him jump and shattered the mood. The aide standing outside the room shook her head at Bucky.

"Boundaries." The reminder was mostly muffled by the window, but the message was clear enough. Bucky rolled his eyes and shifted his weight away from Natalia.

"They aren't fans of… physical affection here," he grumbled. Nat sat back in her seat, hands raised innocently as she glanced over her shoulder at the aide. He thought he read annoyance in her expression, but he wasn't sure.

"I was just hoping to maybe jog your memory," she said defensively, crossing her legs. Bucky cocked his head to the side.

"Consider it jogged. But, Natalia, if you came here for… anything else…" He shook his head. "I don't have anything to offer. Not here, not now. I'm not good for anyone right now." Perhaps ever, he added silently, thinking ruefully of Megan.

"I thought the same, once," she replied, disappointment in her voice. "But you're probably right that this is neither the time nor the place. Not to mention the… complications." She smiled at him suddenly. "Still, old friend, we have a lot of catching up to do." Bucky nodded slowly.

"That we do."


	11. Day 42

For the first few days after Colin arrived, he seemed… overwhelmingly normal, aside from being a bit of an asshole at times. Bucky had known plenty of people like that who never went anywhere near a mental health facility. Bucky's gut still insisted there was something more going on with the newcomer, but he was beginning to doubt his instincts. Colin nodded to him as they passed in the hallway. Bucky nodded back. His room was still his sanctuary, but he ventured out more often. This was still a cage, but the thousand square feet of the unit was slightly more bearable than the hundred square feet of his room when he started feeling claustrophobic.

The dayroom was mostly empty, but the television was on. Bucky watched the cooking show on the screen with interest. Since he had started learning how to cook, he had become more interested in these types of shows. Today, they were making some kind of pasta dish. His stomach growled, reminding him how long it had been since breakfast.

"That's the one drawback of watching the Food Network before lunch," Celie sighed from the corner. "It just makes you hungrier." Bucky looked over at her. She had registered in his peripheral vision when he first came in, but he hadn't really noticed her. She had a bin full of colored pencils and a stack of paper on the table in front of her.

"I remember when there were only three channels to choose from. Now there's an entire channel just for cooking," he mused out loud.

"Oh, there's more than one channel," she informed him. "And still it's difficult to find something to watch." He wandered over to see what she was working on. The picture looked like it had been pre-drawn, but she was filling it in with an impressive kaleidoscope of colors.

"That's really good," Bucky commented. Celie favored him with a rare smile.

"Want to do one?" she offered. "I have plenty." She gestured towards the pile of papers. Bucky eyed them doubtfully. One of the colored pencils rolled towards the edge of the table, and he picked it up.

"What does it do?" he asked. Celie raised an eyebrow.

"It colors in the white space on the paper," she replied dryly. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"No, really?" he responded, matching her level of sarcasm. "I know what a colored pencil does. I'm just not sold on all the benefits it's supposed to have." She shrugged.

"It is pretty relaxing, actually," she admitted. "Something about focusing on this helps distract from the… things you don't want to be thinking about. And then you have something pretty to hang on the wall, and that kind of helps you feel better, too. At least, it helps me." Bucky considered that for a moment and sat down in the chair across the table from her. He paged through the stack, discarding drawings of flowers, butterflies and kittens before selecting an abstract image to work on. Dominic paced through the room, mumbling to himself.

"Hi, Dominic," Bucky called. Dominic didn't look at him, but his head bobbed as he crossed to the window, then turned and went back the way he came, still talking to himself. "Bye, Dominic." Celie giggled.

"He's so weird," she commented. Bucky raised an eyebrow at her.

"Everyone's got something," he said diplomatically. "Some of us spend our lives running from secret organizations. Some of us carve our pain into our skin. Some of us have conversations with people nobody else can see." Celie made a face at him.

"Touché," she sighed, and picked up a purple pencil.

* * *

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, the Asset, the New Fist of Hydra, with several dozen confirmed kills and several prominent assassinations in his history, frowned in concentration as he finished coloring an intricately detailed picture of a pig in a teacup. When he had first discovered the image, it was at once so cute and absurd that he couldn't help but smile at it. The colors he chose emphasized the absurdity, with shades of blue and purple intermixed with pink in the pig's body, and a black teacup with gold flowers. Celie whistled at it in appreciation. She glanced at the stack of brightly-colored pictures neatly arranged at his elbow.

"Wow!" She gave Bucky a sidelong glance. "This is really good. You're sure you haven't done these before?" Bucky shrugged.

"I think…" He frowned, his eyebrows knitting in thoughtful nostalgia. "I used to take art classes. A long time ago."

"Clearly, you've retained at least some of it," Celie declared. Bucky slid the picture across the table to her.

"You can have it, if you like," he offered. She pulled it closer to her.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll keep it as a reminder that sometimes life doesn't make sense, and that's okay." She sat back in her chair and regarded him for a moment. "You are full of surprises. I didn't figure you for an artist."

"Neither did I," he mused. She was right, though, it was remarkably relaxing. Maybe he had been foolish to skip the groups that had offered coloring as an activity. Not only did it help keep his mind off of things, it had triggered some memories from his distant past. Memories of drawing, sketching, painting… watching Steve work on his art.

"…don't care about that, bitch! Just give it to me! I need it!" The loud yelling startled Bucky, and Celie went pale at the sound. He turned in his chair and stood in one motion, looking to see who was causing such a commotion. Colin stood at the nursing station, glaring at Hannah, who was behind the desk with hands spread placatingly. Bucky moved closer to see what was going on, closing the dayroom door behind him.

"You just had your Oxycodone two hours ago," Hannah reminded the wild-eyed Colin. "Come back after lunch and you can have another dose."

"I can't wait that long! It hurts!" Colin roared. "Give it to me, you bitch!" He jumped over the desk of the nursing station. Hannah retreated into the medication room and closed the door behind her. The door to the chart room was similarly shut, and Bucky heard the green alert overhead that told him more staff would be coming. But Colin was ramming the med room door with all his strength, and the wood was starting to splinter and crack. It might not hold up before help arrived. Bucky glanced around the unit and saw everyone watching the scene with wide eyes, but nobody was moving to help. With a resolute sigh, Bucky jumped over the desk, landing solidly behind the enraged Colin. Grabbing him by the clothing, he pulled him away from the door and flung him back across the nurses station. Colin hit the carpeting and rolled, coming back to his feet with a snarl.

"The fuck are you doing, Barnes?" he growled.

"Well, not trying to break down doors and hurt the staff," he said pointedly.

"So you're on their side," Colin sneered.

"I just prefer that nobody gets hurt," Bucky replied calmly. More people had arrived on the unit, and he was aware of the growing audience. Some of them were calling at him to leave and go to his room, but as long as Colin's attention was on him, he wasn't trying to hurt anyone else.

"Yeah, well, too bad you ain't gonna get what you want." Colin swung at Bucky, who dodged easily, grabbing Colin's wrist and hooking his foot around his ankle. Colin tumbled to the ground, and Bucky made sure he stayed down with a knee in the middle of his back, twisting Colin's arm behind him. He looked up at all the staff converging on them. An aide knelt down on Colin's other side and grabbed the arm. He nodded at Bucky.

"We'll take it from here, thanks," he said. Bucky nodded at him and stood up, backing away as the staff took over. Colin's struggles renewed, swearing at the staff as they secured his arms and legs. Bucky glanced over at the med room. The door was visibly cracked, with a chunk missing halfway up the door. It opened a few inches, and Hannah peered out, her expression shaken. She made eye contact with Bucky, and silently mouthed a thank you. Colin was still yelling, but Bucky smiled slightly to himself as he went back to his room.

* * *

The unit quieted down, returning to the new normal as always after a code. Bucky decided to lay low, unsure if he wanted to run into Colin again. He wasn't afraid of the man, but he also didn't want to get into fights every time he went out of his room. He wasn't one to go looking for fights; that was more Steve's style. At the very least, he would give him time to calm down before he confronted him again. A knock at his door drew his attention, but it didn't open.

"You have a phone call, Bucky," Celie's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Thanks," he replied, his curiosity piqued. Maybe Steve was calling to say he couldn't come for a visit? He didn't know who else might be calling. He came out of his room and sat down in the seat next to the phone. The receiver was balanced sideways across the hook, leaving the person on hold. Bucky picked it up.

"Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Mr. Barnes," a strange voice came from the other end of the line. "My name is Virginia Porter, and I'm an investigative journalist for Channel 5. I am interested in sitting down with you for an interview. Could I make an appointment with you for next week?" Bucky glared at the wall, even though she couldn't see him on the other end of the line.

"I'm not interested in any interviews," he told her tersely.

"You're not interested in telling your story from your point of view?" she asked, persisting. "I promise, the piece will be sympathetic…"

"I'm not interested in being in the news at all," he informed her.

"You don't think the American people want to know who the Winter Soldier really is?" she argued. "You don't think they deserve to know?"

"Look, I just want to be left in peace," Bucky growled, and hung up the phone. Dominic paced the hall behind him, his incessant chatter punctuated by slightly unhinged-sounding laughter. Bucky sighed. "Hi, Dominic," he said, not really expecting a reply.

"Hey, Bucky," Dominic answered, then continued on his way. Bucky sighed and stared at the phone. Maybe he should give Steve a call to discuss that strange phone call. He had no idea why a journalist would be interested in his story. Before he could pick the phone back up, it rang, startling him. He frowned and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Barnes, I really do want to meet with you. Surely there are some conditions we could agree to that might convince you to sit down with me for an interview? We could limit the topics, limit the time…"

"Let's limit the time to ten seconds... on the phone. Oh, look at that. Time's up." Bucky hung the phone up quickly, then picked the receiver back up and dialed Steve's number quickly, before that woman could call back again.


	12. Day 56

"…so the challenge can be to look at our thoughts as we are thinking them and identify when we are having some of these types of self-defeating thinking. On your worksheet, you'll find descriptions and examples of each kind of these cognitive distortions. Let's go over each of them and talk about how to recognize them and adjust your thinking." Laura referred to the papers that had been handed out to each of them. "Who wants to read the first one?" She glanced around the room, but nobody volunteered. She waited a few moments, looking from one patient to the other. "Okay. Bucky, can you read the first one?" Bucky sighed and looked down at the paper in front of him.

"All-or-nothing thinking refers to thinking in extremes," he read. "You are either a success or a failure. Your performance was totally good or totally bad. If you are not perfect, then you are a failure. This binary way of thinking does not account for shades of gray, and can be responsible for a great deal of negative evaluations of yourself and others. Take, for example, a job interview. During the interview, you are caught off-guard by a question, and do not answer it as well as you would have liked. If you view this experience through the lens of all-or-nothing thinking, you are likely to discount your performance during the other 95% of the interview, and think that it was "horrible" and a "thorough waste of time," triggering feelings of disappointment and shame. This cognitive distortion sets an unreasonable rule in which any outcome less than 100% equates to 0%. It is easy to see how that all-or-nothing thinking can lead to a lot of harsh negative judgments about yourself."

"Thank you, Bucky," Laura said approvingly. "Can you think of any examples of all or nothing thinking you've had?" He could, easily. When he was in Hydra's custody, it hadn't taken very many kills before they had him convinced that was all he was good at, all he was good for. He nodded slowly. Laura looked at him expectantly. "An example you'd like to share with the group?" she prompted.

"Oh! Uh…" He wasn't ready to share that particular thought with the group. He tried to think of another example.

"I've got one," Colin volunteered from the other side of the table. Bucky suppressed an eye roll and sat back, trying not to look at the man. "Bucky is a dickwad with no redeeming qualities." Alec sniggered next to Colin. Bucky glared at both of them. He knew the man was trying to get a rise out of him, so he made an effort to relax the muscles that had immediately tensed. Since Rob had left and Alec had lost his sidekick, he had latched onto Colin and was never far from out of his shadow. Laura gave him a disapproving look.

"First of all, Colin, that's both untrue and inappropriate. Secondly, if you're going to share an example, it must be about you, not anyone else." Laura glanced around the room. "Okay, let's take ten minutes. Everyone, write down an example you can think of when you might have had all-or-nothing thinking. Then, if anyone feels like sharing, we can talk about it a little more." The room felt silent, interrupted only by the sound of pens scratching on paper. Bucky wrote down the first thought he'd had, then added a couple more he could think of that were less intensely personal.

"Fuckin' teacher's pet," Colin muttered under his breath to Alec. Bucky heard him anyway. "The way they take his side, they must all be suckin' his dick." Alec chortled in glee, his face turning red as he tried not to laugh too loudly. Laura stared at him fixedly, as if debating whether to say something or not.

"See, that's exactly something I would expect someone like you to say," Bucky countered, pitching his voice at the same volume as Colin but making sure he could hear it. Colin threw his pencil down in aggravation.

"Someone like me?" he repeated, not bothering to keep his voice low. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Bucky shrugged casually.

"You know. The kind of guy who doesn't know how to relate to women, so he manipulates and beats the sh – the crap out of them," he clarified.

"Motherfucker," Colin hissed, pushing his chair back as if he were about to come across the table at Bucky.

"No, thanks," Bucky declined. "I wouldn't touch anything that gave birth to a  _мудила_  like you." He should keep his mouth shut, he really should. He had no doubts about his ability to defend himself, but he wasn't eager to cause another code and get thrown into seclusion. But he was already tired of Colin's chicaneries. The man was all charisma and charm until someone told him no, then he was full of rage and profanity, a towering bully used to using threats and violence to get his way. He reminded Bucky of more than one of his handlers over the years. Like Steve, Bucky had never liked bullies. And the expression on Colin's face was truly priceless.

"Enough!" Laura said sharply, standing up before Colin could. "Knock it off, you two." She glared at Colin, who sneered back at her. She glanced at Bucky reprovingly. "Can you stay in here and be civil, or do I need to ask you to leave the group?" Bucky shrugged and shook his head.

"I'm fine," he replied calmly. "I can play nice." Truly, if Colin insisted on going toe to toe with him, it would not go well for Colin. But he also didn't think hospitalizing another patient would look very good on the report when he had to face the judge again. Colin stared at him from across the table for several long moments. Bucky could feel his glare boring into the top of his head as he looked back down at the worksheet.

"Pussy," Colin muttered. Bucky ignored him.

"Colin, one more time, you will need to leave, and your level will be dropped," Laura chastised. Colin sneered at her.

"Who needs your fucking lame-ass group?" he retorted. Getting up, he stormed out, leaving his still-blank worksheet on the table behind him. Alec got up and followed the other man out.

"Yeah, this group sucks," he agreed in a parting shot over his shoulder as he exited. Bucky rolled his eyes. Laura shuffled her papers and took a deep breath, smoothing her hair back behind her ear. Bucky glanced over at her and noticed the faint scent of fear lingering on her. She had been more terrified of the rapidly escalating fight than she had let on.

"Sorry," he murmured. Her eyes darted towards him, then away, as if purposely directing her attention elsewhere as she struggled to get the group back on track.

"Okay," she said resolutely. "Does anyone have an example they would like to share with the class?"

* * *

Two hours later, Bucky was in the Occupational Therapy kitchen for his cooking class. This was the time each week that he looked forward to the most. Laura was assembling ingredients on the counter as they waited for the others to arrive.

"What's on the menu today, boss?" Bucky asked as he settled into his usual place at the table. Laura glanced over at him and half-smiled.

"Well, since it's our last session, I thought we could celebrate by making a cake," she announced. Bucky's stomach growled.

"Just cake?" he inquired. She shook her head.

"There will be a meal, too," she assured him. "But I wanted to introduce a bit of baking, too." Bucky nodded and looked down at the papers outlining the meal of the day.

"Last session, huh?" he commented. "I don't suppose you're going to offer this class again? Or maybe the next level up?" Laura shook her head.

"I don't think so. You do seem to have a natural affinity for it. If you like, I could get you some information on places that offer more formal training that expands on the basics," she suggested. "You could look into them after you're discharged." Bucky considered her offer.

"I'd appreciate that," he accepted. She nodded and continued gathering ingredients for their meal. Bucky read over the other items they were making: balsamic-roasted vegetables, flank steak and grilled sweet potatoes. His stomach growled again. He set the papers aside. "Promise I won't get in any fights this time," he said with a self-deprecating smile. Laura exhaled a noise that was almost a chuckle.

"I should hope not," she agreed, her tone admonishing, although he thought he saw a twinkle in her eye. The door opened, and Brandon and Ashley walked in, announced by the sound of Ashley's distinctive laugh. Despite himself, Bucky felt a grin spread across his face. He did enjoy these classes, and it wasn't only because he liked learning the new skills.

* * *

The food from cooking class was delicious and filling, but Bucky's serum-enhanced metabolism meant he was hungry again long before it was time to line up for supper. His body had become accustomed to getting regular, full meals now. He distracted himself with exercises in his room, then wandered out to the dayroom to see if anything interesting was going on. The television was on, but it didn't look like anyone was watching it. Anna sat facing the windows, staring at something only she could see. In the corner, Paul had his Bible open on his lap, reading loudly from its pages.

"And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit. And I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth, blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before the great and the terrible day of the Lord come." Paul's voice filled the room, and he raised his hand towards Bucky, though if it was in blessing or a curse seemed open to interpretation. Bucky backed away, deciding he didn't want to get drawn into a religious debate today. Sarah shook her head as she walked into the room.

"Paul, we've discussed this. You can either read silently to yourself in here, or you can read out loud in your room," she reminded the man. "You can't read out loud in here."

"How am I supposed to save anyone if you won't let me preach?" he argued. Bucky shook his head as he walked over to the nurses station instead to look at the clock. He had achieved the highest privilege level, which afforded him the small luxury of taking forty-five minutes off the unit to wander grounds as he wished. Today, the library would be open during that time, as well as the snack bar. He only had fifteen minutes to wait. The phone rang, but he ignored it. Steve never called until the evening, and that reporter had been persistent, calling him nearly every day. He never answered the phone anymore, and when anyone told him he had a call, he made them find out who it was. He wouldn't answer unless it was Steve. He ducked back into his room to grab the library books he had checked out the last time, then signed out and went to wait by the door. He half-turned to survey the unit as he waited. Colin came out of his room and down the hall towards the dayroom. His pace slowed when he caught sight of Bucky, and his expression turned icy cold. Bucky kept his own expression neutral and waited to see what Colin would do. Sarah came out of the dayroom and greeted the younger man, who quickly assumed a friendly expression. Alec greeted him from down the hall, and Colin turned towards him. From behind the desk, Hannah grinned at him as she pressed the button that released the doors.

"Have a fun at Gold time!" she said cheerfully, waving Bucky through. He cut across the courtyard, slowing down to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. It was almost July, and the weather was bright and warm. The courtyard was still mostly empty, but others would no doubt be emerging soon. Tyler was in the library today, supervising to make sure everyone was on their best library behavior. Bucky returned the book he had just finished, then turned his attention to the nonfiction history section. He had slowly been working his way through it, trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the decades he had been locked away under Hydra control. Some of them gave him an uneasy feeling, knowing he had obliquely or directly affected the events with some of his missions. He pressed on anyway. It was important to figure out where he had actually fit into events, into history. He couldn't take anything they had told him at face value – when he even remembered it. There was so much they hadn't told him about. He hadn't even been fully aware of the Holocaust; the truth and extent of those atrocities weren't revealed until after he had been in Hydra custody, and the Howling Commandos had been more focused on Hydra than on the Nazi brutalities going on at the same time. He had spent the first month reading all of the library's sparse offerings about World War II before moving on to the Cold War. He at least had a more than passing familiarity with this, but it was interesting to get non-Soviet perspectives on the events of the time. He scanned the titles on the shelf and selected a thick book about a war in Vietnam.

After checking his book out, he stopped at the snack bar and bought a couple hot dogs to tide him over until dinner. Taking his food and his book out to the courtyard, he settled himself underneath a tree, sitting cross-legged in the pleasant shade. He was only a few pages in when someone stopped nearby. He felt their attention on him, and slowly raised his head. Megan was watching him with an anxious expression. He got the very strong impression she was either going to approach him or run away. After weaving on her feet for a moment, she took a few steps closer.

"Hi, Bucky," she said, raising her hand in greeting. He inclined his head towards her.

"Hello, Megan," he replied quietly.

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize," she continued, dropping her gaze to the grass at his feet. "For how I acted with you, before. That's not… it's not really who I am. That's not me. I was so manic… They, um. They have me on some better meds now. So I'm doing better."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bucky replied honestly. "And I understand. I'm sorry for hurting you that night." Megan's cheeks turned pink, and she let out a little giggle.

"That's okay. You didn't seriously injure me. I shouldn't have been in your room. Besides…" She giggled again. "Sometimes I like to have my boyfriend choke me a little, so it's not like it's never happened to me before." Bucky raised his eyebrows at this unasked-for information.

"How is your boyfriend?" he inquired, deftly pivoting the conversation. Megan's expression softened.

"He's good. He says I'm doing better, too," she reported. "They might be letting me go home next week, and he says he's going to take me for a celebratory dinner."

"That's great," Bucky replied. "I'm… glad things are working out for you." Whoever her boyfriend was, he was a patient man. Megan nodded with a grin.

"They are. Thanks. How are things going for you?" she asked. Bucky shrugged.

"Can't really complain. I just started a new book." He gestured to the book open in his lap.

"Yeah? How is it?" Megan asked.

"I usually reserve judgement until at least a full chapter in." Megan nodded.

"Makes sense. Well, I will leave you to your book, then. I'm going to see if they have anything in the gift shop I could get for Gavin. Bye, Bucky." She waved as she walked away from him.

"Bye," he called after her, then turned his attention back to the book in his lap.


	13. Day 60

Some days, the unit felt more constricting than others. Bucky paced along the hallway as the other patients slowly awakened and got up to break their fast. His belly was already as full as it was going to be. Depending on who was working, he sometimes was able to get them to give him some of the leftovers after everyone had eaten. Sarah was in the kitchen this morning handing out the food, so the outlook was promising.

Weeks ago, he had started walking the unit because his body had demanded that he move, even though he had nowhere to go. That internal restlessness had eased. He wasn't certain if that was due to medications, increasing familiarity with his surroundings, progress in therapy, or some other factor he wasn't aware of. It still felt good to stretch his legs. More than that, he liked to get the lay of the land for the day – see which staff were working, get a feel for how the other patients were that day, try to spot anything out of the ordinary on the unit. His was not the same frenetic, frantic pacing of Dominic; not the slow, distracted ambling of some of the other peers, strolling along with headphones in their ears. His strides were purposeful and even. Forty paces from the end of the hall to the nurses station. Thirty-five paces to the end of the hall past the station. Forty-five paces to the end of the hall down the middle, then back to the nurses station again.

"On patrol again, Bucky?" Tim's voice was still husky from sleep, but he grinned at Bucky as he rubbed his eyes. Bucky's mouth twitched at the corners. He hadn't been thinking of it that way, but now that the other man mentioned it, this did feel kind of like a patrol. He tossed off a tongue-in-cheek salute to Tim, who snorted and wandered into the dayroom for something to eat. Bucky continued on his morning rounds. As he passed Colin's room, the door opened, and Colin abruptly emerged. He brushed by Bucky abruptly, his shoulder colliding against Bucky's metal one. Bucky let the momentum carry him back a step.

"Watch it," Colin growled over his shoulder at him. Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head, reminding himself that he wasn't there to fight. He turned down the next hallway and stopped short as another door opened and Anna came out of her room, Celie trailing close behind her.

"G'morning, Bucky," Celie yawned, wiggling her fingers at him in greeting.

"Morning, Celie, Anna," he responded, continuing on his way. Dominic exited his room across the hall from Bucky, his eyes darting wildly around before focusing on the empty air ahead of him. He shook his head and looked over towards Bucky, nodding in greeting before taking off on his own morning route. He passed more peers coming out of their rooms before he finished his circuit. Most of them waved, said good morning, or otherwise acknowledged him. His strides got a little longer. The metallic rattle that announced that the med window was open, so he paused there to get his little cup of pills.

"James Buchanan Barnes, March tenth, 1917," he recited softly. Samantha nodded and pushed a small, clear plastic cup through the slot in the bottom of the window. Three little yellow pills rattled in the bottom of the cup. He picked them up and tossed them back, washing them down with a dixie cup of water that she also offered him. This time, he did not stop to contemplate the pharmaceuticals or what taking them meant about what his life had become. That had been on his mind for the first few weeks, but now it had become somewhat automatic. He glanced around the unit one more time. Satisfied that nothing was amiss this morning, he ventured back into the dayroom, stopping by the breakfast cart. Sarah grinned at him.

"Any extra leftovers?" he inquired hopefully. She looked scandalized.

"You've already had twice what I'm supposed to let you have," she pointed out. He shrugged.

"Not my fault I have an artificially accelerated metabolism," he argued reasonably. Sarah sighed and shook her head at him.

"The hard-boiled eggs aren't very popular today," she relented, handing him a plate with three of them. He flashed her a grin as he took the food and settled into his customary seat, in the corner with his back to the wall so he could watch both the windows and the doorway at the same time. It also gave him a decent view of the television.  _Good Morning America_ was on, with the anchors chatting cheerfully about the festivities in store. Someone mentioned parades and fireworks, and Bucky stiffened slightly. It was easy to lose track of time in this place, and he had forgotten that it was the fourth of July.

"And after the commercial break, we will be joined by a special guest, so stick around," the blond anchorwoman announced. Bucky was distracted for a moment as Anna put her breakfast tray away, then came and sat down next to him. She smiled shyly at him.

"Good morning, Bucky" she said softly. "I forgot to say it earlier, and then you were gone."

"Sorry," Bucky replied. He smiled at her encouragingly. He was a little surprised that she knew his name. She hadn't really said anything to him outside of groups. "I guess I am fast."

"Very fast," she agreed. A commercial came on for hot dogs, and Anna leaned forward. "Too bad we're stuck in here. We usually go see the 4th of July hot dog eating contest. My brother has been in it the last three years. Last year, he came in third. I'll have to miss it this year."

"Hot dog eating contest?" Bucky repeated blankly. She gave him a funny look.

"How do you not know Nathan's 4th of July hot dog eating contest?" she asked. "They have it on Coney Island. It's been going on since 1916." Bucky's eyes widened slightly as he slowly shook his head.

"No, I don't think so," he contradicted her. "It wasn't around in the twenties or thirties." She frowned at him.

"Well, that's what they say." She stared off into space for a few moments. Bucky wondered if she was seeing something he wasn't as she focused on the air before her. "I'll have to call him later and see how he did this year." She leaned forward and squinted at the television. "Hey, isn't that the guy who visits you?" Bucky glanced back at the television and his eyes widened.

"Welcome back to a special July 4th edition of Good Morning America!" the blonde anchorwoman announced. "And who better to celebrate America's birthday with us than Captain America himself, Steve Rogers?" The camera panned over the cheering, screaming crowd, then finally settled on the familiar, large desk. Steve was sitting in one of the seats, next to the blonde woman, his hands cupped around the mug in front of him as if he couldn't decide where else to put them. "Steve, thanks for joining us today."

"It's a pleasure to be here, Stacia," Steve replied. "You know, it's my birthday, too." Stacia blinked at him, surprise on her face shifting to realization.

"Oh, that's right! It must be fun to always get to have fireworks on your birthday," she remarked. She leaned slightly closer to him, swishing her long blonde hair over one shoulder. Steve smiled slightly, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he looked down at the table. Bucky smirked to himself. Even as a tall, blond Adonis, Steve was still awkward around beautiful women, even when they were trying to flirt with him.  _Especially_ when they were trying to flirt with him.

"It was a lot of fun when I was a kid," he agreed. She flashed him a dazzling smile and rested her chin in one hand, her elbow propped on the table in front of her.

"So, do you have any 4th of July slash birthday traditions?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, the parades were always fun," Steve answered, glancing around at the other co-hosts. "But my favorite part was probably after dark. My best friend and I had a… particular spot we would go to watch fireworks. We would bring food and a blanket, have a picnic, and you could see three different fireworks displays from that rooftop." Steve's expression had softened in nostalgia, and a slow grin spread across Bucky's face as he, too, recalled those spectacular nights.

"You didn't fire off any fireworks of your own?" Todd, the anchor to Steve's left asked. Steve turned towards him with a self-deprecating grin.

"No. My buddy always said I was short enough without blowing my foot off." Bucky chuckled to himself, then noticed that Anna was watching him with wide eyes.

"Is he talking about you?" she asked. Bucky shrugged.

"I dunno. Maybe," he hedged. Anna didn't look convinced. Bucky folded his arms over his chest and tried to maintain a neutral expression for the remainder of the interview, but the smile kept creeping across his face.

* * *

He was still in a good mood several hours later, when Tammy knocked on his door and stuck her head into his room.

"Bucky, you have a visitor," she announced. He frowned in confusion.

"I thought visiting hours weren't until evening," he recalled.

"We have extended hours today because of the holiday," she explained. "Your visitor is in the lounge at the end of the hall."

"Who is it?" Bucky asked. He never expected anyone other than Steve, but since he had been interviewed live on national television just a few hours ago, he wasn't expecting him at the moment, either. Tammy shrugged.

"I didn't recognize her, and she didn't volunteer her name," the aide explained. Bucky frowned, trying to remember if Tammy had been working when Natasha came to visit. Warily, he walked down the hallway to the visitor's lounge. He did not recognize the woman sitting in the chair waiting for him. Her dark hair was pulled back in a chignon, and she was dressed in business attire; more formal than he had grown used to seeing. He almost turned around and went back to his room, but he wanted to know who she was. She looked up as he entered the room. Her face brightened, and she extended her hand to him.

"Mr. Barnes, Virginia Porter. We spoke on the phone. Thank you so much for meeting with me," she said cheerfully. Bucky stared at her extended hand as if it were infected, then shifted his glare to her face.

"I didn't agree to this," he growled. Virginia pulled back the snubbed hand, using it to pat a stray hair back as if that had been her plan all along.

"That is technically true," she agreed. "And you're a difficult man to get in to see. But I wanted to give you one last chance to add your perspective to the story. What do you want America to know about you?" Bucky tensed.

"Look, I just want to be left alone," he grated through clenched teeth. "This is a place for people to recover in peace, not to have the press violating their privacy." She leveled a knowing look at him.

"Is that what you'd say you're doing here?" she asked slyly. "Recovering?"

"Working on it," he replied stiffly. "Not that it's any business of yours."

"And what would you say to those who might say that you deserve to be locked up forever or executed for your past crimes?" she asked next. Bucky didn't like where this line of questioning was going.

"They can take that up with the judge. I'm just doing my best to be better." He opened the door to the room. "We're done here." She folded her arms stubbornly over her chest.

"Any thoughts about the agents of Hydra that are still at large? Don't you think you have a responsibility to provide the proper authorities with the insider information that only you possess? Do you plan to work with the Avengers to find them? Where do you see yourself in the future?" Her queries were rapid fire, coming at him faster than he could think about all the things he had been avoiding lately.

"No more questions." If she wasn't going to leave, then he would. He stepped out, letting the door slam shut behind him, and stalked up to the nurses station. "She can leave. No more visitors." Reyna stared at him with wide eyes, but nodded. He didn't wait to see if Virginia was going to argue about being asked to leave or not. He retreated to his room, shutting the door securely behind him. He contemplated sitting down at the desk to journal, but his adrenaline was still pumping. The audacity of the reporter had him furious, though a small part of him admired her a little, too. He paced back in forth in the room, caroming from wall to wall like a caged animal until the shaking subsided. He lay down on the bed and tried practicing the deep breathing and visualization exercises they had learned in group last week.

* * *

There was no sign of the reporter when he ventured back out of his room, and nobody mentioned her to him. He settled back into his usual routine. Some of the groups mentioned the holiday, but otherwise it was much like any other day. He could almost pretend it wasn't July 4th at all. He was tempted to call Steve and wish him a happy birthday, but Steve was probably having fun celebrating with all of his new friends who weren't locked up in a loony bin. The day, which had started out so promising, had soured in his mind. After dinner, he went to his room to lay down, half-determined to go to bed early and attempt to sleep through the rest of the day.

A tentative knock came at his door an hour later. He rolled over in bed to see Ted standing in the doorway.

"Bucky, you have a visitor," he informed him. Bucky sighed. That Virginia Porter was one of the most persistent women he'd ever heard of.

"I don't think so," he said glumly. "Not today."

"Really?" Ted sounded surprised. "I guess I can go tell him you don't want to see him." He turned to leave, but Bucky frowned. That hadn't been the pronoun he had been expecting.

"Wait," he called after Ted, who reappeared in the doorway. "Who is it?" Ted gave him an odd look, as if it should be obvious.

"It's Steve," he replied. Bucky immediately felt a weight lift from his chest, and he stood up quickly.

"I'll be right there." He went to the tiny, doorless alcove that passed for a closet and picked up the small box tucked into the corner of it. Package in hand, he hurried down the hall. Ted opened the lounge door for him. Steve stood up as Bucky came in, the same relieved smile he always had at the start of their visits. Bucky surprised him this time by giving him an enthusiastic hug.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said softly. Bucky took a step back and handed him the gift.

"Happy birthday, punk," he said. Steve's expression registered astonishment.

"You didn't have to get me anything," he protested.

"I know, but I wanted to," Bucky replied with a shrug. "Sorry it isn't wrapped. We don't have that kind of fancy shit here." Steve chuckled and opened the box to see the set of drawing pencils.

"Where did you get these?" he asked.

"The little gift shop here. Occasionally they have something decent." Bucky settled himself into one of the chairs, and Steve followed suit. "You do still draw, don't you?" Steve shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"Ah, it's been awhile," he admitted. "I've… had other priorities. But I think I'm ready to get back into it."

"Yeah, you have been busy," Bucky agreed, his tone becoming slightly teasing. "I saw you on the television this morning."

"You saw that, huh?" Steve shifted in the chair, his cheeks becoming slightly pink.

"Yep," Bucky confirmed. "Nice little trip down memory lane."

"Speaking of which…" Steve picked up a paper grocery bag from the other side of his chair. "I don't know if we'll be able to see any fireworks from here, but I thought we could at least have a picnic." He pulled out a couple varieties of chips, popcorn, a container of potato salad, some meat and cheese sandwiches, and a few red, juicy slices of watermelon. All elements of July 4th picnics past. Nostalgia tightened his chest for a moment.

"I'm a little surprised you came," he confessed. Steve frowned slightly.

"Why are you surprised?" his friend asked. Bucky shrugged.

"It's your birthday," he pointed out. "I'm sure there are much nicer places you'd like to spend it. You could be watching fireworks with the rest of the Avengers."

"Maybe, but you're here," Steve replied. "And there's no one else I would rather spend the evening with." He produced two cans of Coke and tossed one to Bucky. Bucky regarded the can of soda in surprise.

"You know these break like three different rules, right?" he informed his friend as he opened his with a familiar, tantalizing sound. Steve shrugged and opened his with a grin.

"Better drink it fast, then."


	14. Day 84

It was a quiet morning. Bucky set a more leisurely pace as he patrolled the halls silently. The night shift staff were attending to their end-of-shift duties, with Levon manning the breakfast cart in the kitchenette. Bucky was the only one who had been up for breakfast yet. It occurred to Bucky that he hadn't seen Bridget in a few weeks. Maybe she had had her baby. He hoped they were well. He was sleeping better, thanks in part to her advice.

The day shift nurses began to arrive, trickling into the chart room with coffee cups in hand. Hannah smiled and waved at him, and he nodded at her. They disappeared into the back, as was the routine. They would reappear in another twenty minutes or so, if the past was anything to go by. Bucky walked the halls once more, but nobody was stirring yet. He ducked into the dayroom for a few minutes to wait for the new shift to start. He had left the television on the cooking channel, and they were talking about making quiche this morning. He watched with interest, contemplating going back to his room to get his notebook to take notes. It seemed fairly straightforward, though: Layer ingredients in a pie crust, pour egg mixture, bake. He recalled his mother making pie crusts from scratch. Her memory appeared in his head, rolling the dough out with a rolling pin, hair tied back, dabs of flour on her cheek and forehead. A pang of nostalgia stabbed him in the gut. He had seen her last right before he shipped out, her eyes shining with both pride and fear. He didn't know what had happened to her. After all these years, he was certain she wouldn't still be alive, but the when and the how were mysteries that a good son should have the answer to. Feeling his throat thicken with remorse, he swallowed hard and resumed his patrol just as the day shift came out onto the floor. A tired-looking Tammy relieved Levon in the kitchen, Samantha disappeared into the med room, and Hannah grabbed the rounds board and came out on the floor. The others still lingered in the chart room, discussing what they had heard in report and chattering about what they had done the day before.

"Good morning, Bucky!" Hannah greeted him sunnily. He managed a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She turned and began knocking on doors, making the required fifteen-minute checks to start the shift. Bucky paced to the unit doors, looking out through the glass, across the hallway and through the window to the courtyard, where the sun was already shining. Some of the night staff from other units were in the hallway, heading home, purses slung over shoulders and shoes on their feet. He sighed away the envy that rose up in his chest. Turning away, he resumed his rounds. Hannah was about halfway through hers, knocking on the doors, greeting everyone with a good morning greeting and announcing breakfast before moving on to the next one. She knocked on the door to Colin's room, then opened it. Bucky heard a clunk rather than her cheerful greeting and sprinted towards the noise. The rounds board was lying on the floor just inside the door. Colin had the nurse pressed up against the wall, pinning her with his leg across her thighs. There was something stuffed in her mouth, and he had both of her hands above her head, crossed at the wrist and trapped against the wall by one of his hands. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her scrub top was already partly ripped.

"Let her go, Colin," Bucky commanded from the doorway. It had been drilled into him not to go into the other rooms, but surely this would be an exception?

"Mind your own business, Barnes," Colin snarled. Bucky shrugged and stepped closer.

"This, I make my business," Bucky informed him. "Let her go."

"Or what?" Colin challenged. "You'll make me? This bitch has it comin'." Arguing with a bully about whether their target deserved to be bullied was generally an exercise in futility, a lesson Bucky had learned long ago.

"Last chance," Bucky warned. Colin sneered at him and turned his attention back to Hannah, tearing her scrub top completely open. A strangled, muffled cry drifted through the makeshift gag. Bucky grabbed Colin's arm and jerked him away from the woman, punctuating his point with a right hook to Colin's jaw. Hannah scrambled away the moment Colin's hold on her loosened. Eyes blazing, Colin turned his attention fully on Bucky, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where his lip had opened. He swung, but Bucky blocked easily. A shrill noise sounded from right outside the room. Bucky glanced over to see Hannah with a whistle in her mouth, sounding the alarm as she tried to hold her torn scrub shirt closed. Colin took advantage of Bucky's momentary distraction to punch him in the mouth. Bucky's head snapped back, but he immediately retaliated, leading with an uppercut to Colin's chin. While he was still off balance, Bucky hooked his foot behind his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him. Colin toppled over on the bed behind him. One corner of Bucky's mind noted the Code Green being paged overhead, but he didn't have time to worry about that. Colin scrambled back to his feet, swiping something from under his pillow that he brandished menacingly. Since no traditional weapons were allowed, it wasn't immediately identifiable, but whatever it was had been sharpened to a point. He lunged at Bucky with it. Bucky blocked with his left arm, then grasped Colin's weapon-wielding hand in his metal fist. There was a familiar crunch of bone, and Colin yelled in rage and pain, but dropped the shiv. He staggered back a step, still glaring at Bucky.

Rushing footsteps entered the room, and Bucky found himself tackled to the floor. He suppressed the urge to fight back once he saw staff scrubs and let them pin him to the carpet instead. Four others wrestled Colin to the floor on the other side of the room. Colin was not backing down, bucking and screaming at the staff attempting to restrain him.

"Shit, are we going to need two restraint chairs?" asked the man restraining Bucky's arms behind his back. Bucky wanted to reassure them that he absolutely, positively did not need to go in the chair, but someone was kneeling on his back, and he found himself concentrating on breathing instead.

"No, let him up," Hannah's voice registered on the edges of his fuzzy consciousness, still frightened but firm. "He didn't start this. Colin attacked me. He saved me."

"You sure?" The man on Bucky's back didn't sound convinced.

"Yes, I'm sure. I was there. Let him up." Now Hannah was starting to sound annoyed.

"If I let you up, are you going to fight us?" He finally placed the voice: Ryan, one of the security guards.

"No," Bucky grunted, still fighting to breath. The weight lifted from his back, and he greedily sucked air into his starving lungs. His arms were released, and he pushed up slowly from the floor. He stood and backed slowly out of the room. Hannah was being helped behind the desk by the other staff.

"Bucky, are you okay?" Tammy asked in concern. She had picked up the rounds board and was standing in the hall, keeping an eye on the milieu and on her coworkers fighting with Colin. Bucky shrugged.

"Fine," he replied shortly. Tammy nodded.

"Okay. Can you go wait in your room, then?" she asked. Bucky regarded her with mild surprise. All that, and he was just going to be sent to his room? That was the thanks he got? Well, it was better than the chair, at any rate. He nodded and stalked back to his room.

* * *

Colin's angry yelling was less distressing than Megan's had been, and it weighed far less heavily on Bucky's conscience. He worked off the excess adrenaline still coursing through his veins with push-ups, then sat at his desk and emptied his brain of the morning's events, his thoughts flowing through the pen onto the page. A knock on his door interrupted his train of thought. He set the pen down and turned towards the door as Tammy came in with two uniformed men, their badges identifying them as police, not security.

"Bucky, Officer Grey and Officer Newberg would like to get a statement from you," Tammy said in introduction. "As a witness." Bucky eyed them dubiously.

"How is Hannah?" he asked quietly. Tammy shrugged.

"I think she'll be okay," she replied, then smiled warmly at him for the first time that morning. "Thanks to you." He nodded at her, and she slipped out of the room, leaving him with the two police officers. Nametags on their chest identified which one was which. They were not carrying their guns, although Newberg's hand hovered near the empty holster as he eyed Bucky's exposed metal arm.

"Mr. Barnes, can you walk us through what happened this morning?" Officer Grey had his notepad out, pen at the ready. Bucky sighed and cleared his throat.

"I was in the hallway, and Hannah was doing her rounds. She always tells everyone good morning, but when she got to Colin's room…." He shook his head. "I didn't hear her say good morning, and she didn't come out right away. So I went to check on her, and he had her pinned against the wall with a gag in her mouth, shirt ripped. I told him to stop, he refused, so I made him." He outlined how the fight had gone, Grey taking notes and occasionally exchanging glances with Newberg. The officers exchanged glances.

"What did you think his intentions were?" Grey asked. Bucky made a face.

"He was trying to tear her shirt off," he noted. "What do you think he intended? Nothing good."

"Anything else notable?" Grey inquired.

"He had a weapon," Bucky recalled. "Didn't get a close look at it, but it was something sharpened to a point. I knocked it out of his hand. It's probably still in his room, unless you found it already." Grey nodded.

"Okay. I think we've got what we need. Here's my card with the case number, if you think of anything else." He handed a small business card to Bucky, who took it reluctantly. Officer Newberg spoke up for the first time since entering the room.

"Just so you know, he said he wanted to press assault charges against you," he announced. Bucky raised his eyebrows, but Officer Grey chuckled.

"I don't think that's anything you need to worry about," he reassured Bucky. "Your story matches hers, and it's pretty clear you were coming to her defense." Bucky nodded. He was fairly certain he hadn't done anything wrong. As he played the scene over in his head, he couldn't think of anything he would have done differently. They thanked him for his time and left. He waited another few minutes, then ventured out of his room. The officers were exiting the unit, Colin in handcuffs between them. Bucky watched them go with satisfaction, then approached the nurses station. A rather rattled-looking Hannah was dressed in a fresh, intact scrub top, sitting in the chart room as the others crowded around her comfortingly. She glanced over and saw Bucky at the desk. Jumping to her feet, she fairly flew out of the chart room.

"Bucky, are you okay?" she asked anxiously. "Did anyone check in with you?"

"I talked to the officers," he said. She shook her head.

"No, I mean… Any injuries?" Her nurses gaze traveled over his features, assessing the damage. "You have a cut on your lip… some bruising by your cheek…" Bucky waved away her concern.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "What about you?" She sighed and shrugged.

"Physically, I'm okay," she declared. "It could have been a lot worse. Would have been, if you hadn't come to my rescue. I don't know how I can ever repay you." Bucky snorted, a half-grin spreading across his face.

"You don't owe me anything," he assured her. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Can I at least get you some Tylenol or at least an ice pack?" she requested. He chuckled.

"If it will make you feel better, I suppose you could do that," he said dryly. She let out a breath of laughter and shook her head at him before disappearing into the med room.

* * *

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful in comparison. Groups resumed, and by the time they went down to the cafeteria for lunch it was almost like nothing unusual had happened at all. After lunch, Tim was standing by the nurses station looking sober. One of the aides handed him a bag. He took out a wallet, keys and a half-empty pack of cigarettes.

"Going somewhere?" Bucky asked casually. Tim nodded.

"Got a pass. They're actually letting me out for a few hours." Bucky blinked at him.

"That's… something they do?" Maybe he could ask about getting a pass.

"Yeah. Pretty strict about it, though. I'm only going for an interview and to check out a place they might be sending me to next. I'm kinda hoping to talk my case manager into letting me swing by my old apartment, too." Bucky nodded.

"Well, good luck. With all of it," he said. Tim, surprisingly, smiled.

"Thanks," he replied. The unit doors opened, and a tall, broad-shouldered man walked onto the unit.

"Ready, Tim?" he asked. Tim nodded.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand, Eric," he replied. Bucky gave a perfunctory wave as they left, then went to investigate the dayroom.

* * *

After dinner, he noticed Eric in the chart room talking with the nurses. It wasn't until they were all lined up for evening medications and snacks that he realized he hadn't seen Tim. It was possible that Tim was hiding out in his room, though unlikely. He hoped the man was okay.


	15. Day 86

The unit double doors shut loudly, and Bucky looked up to see Colin following Ted back onto the unit. A smirk crawled across Colin's face as he caught Bucky looking at him.

"Colin, you're back?!" Alec came flying out of the dayroom. "How'd you manage to bust out of the clink?" Colin shrugged casually.

"They can't keep me there, man. I'm looney tunes, remember?" He made a gesture twirling one finger alongside his ear and chuckled wickedly. The sound of it set Bucky's teeth on edge. Crazy or not, he had been in full possession of his faculties when he attacked Hannah. Bucky would just have to keep a closer eye on him now that he was back. Colin didn't seem to be eager to rub his return in Bucky's face. In fact, he seemed to be giving the ex-assassin a wider berth than prior to their fight. Perhaps it had finally sunk in that he was outmatched. Bucky watched him suspiciously from the nurses station.

" _Something bothering you, Bucky?"_  Reyna asked in Russian as she passed by him, rounds board in hand. Bucky shook his head.

" _I just can't believe he is back already,"_ he replied in the same language. Reyna shrugged.

" _Just how it goes sometimes,"_ she said diplomatically. " _But don't worry too much about it. He'll still have to go back to court to face his charges."_ She glanced down at the rounds board, then glanced at him nonchalantly. " _You didn't hear that from me."_ He nodded at her, glancing back at Colin one more time. It was gratifying to know that the man wasn't going to be getting away with it completely.

"Hey, Bucky. This is for you." Celie set a stack of papers on the counter next to him. Bucky glanced through them and quickly realized they were pictures she had colored. There was probably a couple dozen in the pile.

"Wow, Celie," he stammered, slightly uncomfortable with the gift. "I can't take all of these."

"Sure, you can," she insisted. "I don't want to bring all of them with me." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked lightly. She nodded.

"My case manager is picking me up at 4. I'm finally being discharged," she said brightly, although her smile wasn't as confident as her tone.

"Yeah? Congratulations," Bucky returned. She shrugged.

"It's a group home, so it's not where I want to be eventually, but they say the program is only ninety days anyway." She fidgeted with her sleeve, long despite the warm summer weather, and Bucky caught a glimpse of the nearly-healed lacerations on her wrist. She pulled the sleeve back down. "They do a lot of DBT, so maybe that will be helpful."

"Good luck," he told her. "You'll be missed here, but I'm glad you're moving on to bigger and better things." She scoffed at his description.

"I don't know about bigger and better, but… baby steps, anyway." She looked down shyly. "I know we're not supposed to exchange personal information, but I was wondering…" She trailed off as Bucky shook his head.

"I don't have any contact information outside of here," he informed her. She looked shocked.

"What, no cell phone? No Facebook? No Instagram? Not even an email address?" she queried incredulously. Bucky shook his head. He didn't even know what half of those things were.

"None of those. I don't even have a mailing address," he admitted. She gaped at him.

"How have you lived in this century with none of those things?" she asked in amazement. Bucky grinned.

"As quietly as possible," he replied dryly.

"And pretty lonely, too, I bet," Celie countered. He didn't have a good reply for that. Especially since she wasn't wrong.

* * *

Bucky waved as Celie three hours later as she wheeled all her earthly belongings off the unit on a plastic cart, case manager by her side. She waved back, looking both excited and apprehensive. Bucky's smile faded as she vanished from view. Nearly everyone who had been on the unit the day that he had been admitted was gone. They had all been discharged back to their lives, while he was stuck here, still waiting. It was his understanding that he would not be allowed to leave until the end of his six-month commitment, and then only if the judge deemed him safe to discharge. The only ones who remained were Alec, awaiting his court date, and Dominic, still pacing the halls amid his own chatter. It was enough to make a man doubt his own sanity. Suddenly feeling discouraged, he turned and strode back towards his room. Perhaps a couple hundred sets of push-ups would lift his mood a little.

* * *

They all lined up for bedtime medications starting at 20:00. Bucky was neither the first nor the last in line, but waited his turn and took the half-full medication cup in one swallow, chasing it with a shot's glass worth of water. He was on a considerably higher dosage than he had started on, and the pill was only available in 2 milligram increments, so it added up. On the upside, it did seem to be working. It had been a week since he had jerked awake in a cold sweat, images of HYDRA's torture rooms and his handler's condescending faces slowly fading from his mind's eye.

After waiting in line for medications, they moved into the dayroom to wait for snacks, except for the three who had to be watched to make sure they actually swallowed their pills rather than hiding them in their cheek. The staff waited until everyone had taken their medications before opening the kitchen for the evening snack. Tonight, it was a bag of miniature hard pretzels and some cheese sticks. Usually it was only enough of a bite to remind Bucky that he was still hungry, but not enough to satisfy the ever-present hunger still gnawing in his belly. He collected his snack and settled himself in his usual chair in the dayroom. He noticed a flurry of activity behind the nurses station, much more than usual for a night in which nothing much had happened. The crowd in the dayroom began to thin out as the patients finished their snack and wandered off to bed. Bucky waited. He had a feeling in his gut that something was about to happen.

The unit doors opened, and he paced to the edge of the dayroom for a better view. Three police officers were escorting Tim onto the unit. Tim's eyes were wide and alert, and even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he appeared fidgety and twitchy. This was not the Tim Bucky was acquainted with, who generally was both serious and somewhat subdued. He contorted theatrically as the officers chatted with the nurses behind the desk, as if he thought maybe he could bend his arms enough to pull out of the handcuffs. Sierra, the dark-haired nurse who always looked like she needed to go on vacation, signed the paperwork the officers pushed across the desk at her. They took Tim's handcuffs off, then left quickly. Tim began pacing back and forth in front of the nurses station rapidly, moving faster than Bucky had ever seen him go. Sierra and Annie came around to meet Tim on the other side.

"Tim, we need you to come with us to the quiet room to do a search," Sierra said calmly. Tim danced backwards.

"I don't think so," he said in a singsong voice, then laughed. Not Tim's usual dry chuckle, but a slightly hysterical cackle with an uncomfortable edge to it. "I know what you really are." Annie and Sierra exchanged glances.

"We're nurses, Tim," Annie reminded him. "You've known us for months." Tim shook his head.

"Now I see your true faces," he growled. "I see what you really are."

"And what's that?" Sierra asked exasperatedly.

"Witches," Tim hissed. He fumbled at his pants as he continued to pace.

"Tim, I promise you, we are not witches," Annie insisted patiently. Tim shook his head.

"Isn't that just what a witch would say anyway?" he charged pointedly. He pulled his hand from his pants and brandished a knife. Sierra and Annie backed away with wide eyes, rushing back behind the desk and into the chart room, where they quickly closed the door. One of them immediately picked up the phone, no doubt trying to call for reinforcements. Bucky slipped out of the dayroom before Elaina put it on lockdown and approached the knife-wielding Tim.

"Hey, Tim," Bucky greeted him cautiously, staying out of range of his four-inch blade. Tim whirled around as if touched by a live wire, bringing his knife to bear on this new possible threat. His pupils were so large they almost swallowed his irises, and a sheen of perspiration was standing out on his forehead. Something clicked in Bucky's memory, taking him back to his Army days. Little white pills, supplied mostly to pilots, designed to sustain them during long flights through enemy territory. They'd had a pilot taking them freak out during one of the Howling Commando's missions, start saying some strange things, acting paranoid. They'd relieved him of duty for the remainder of the mission. His eyes had had the same look as Tim's did now. Tim seemed to relax ever so slightly as he recognized Bucky.

"Bucky, what the hell are you doing?" Elaina hissed from the dayroom door, holding it open just a crack. "Get back in here!" He ignored her. He knew she was just trying to keep him safe, trying to do her job. But he couldn't just walk away from this situation, especially since nobody else seemed to want to deal with it.

"Hey, Bucky. Man, I gotta get out of here. You wanna come with me?" He laughed unsteadily. "We could do so much better than this shithole." Bucky shook his head slowly.

"Tim, I don't… think that's going to play out the way you are imagining it," he speculated, holding out one hand. "Why don't you just give me the knife, before somebody gets hurt?" Tim scoffed.

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone. Unless they try to stop me." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you trying to stop me?" Bucky shrugged.

"I think it's either going to be me or the police, Tim," he said diplomatically. The chart room was getting crowded now, but nobody seemed to be willing to come out and confront the man with the knife. Even the security guards were hanging back. Tim scratched at his shoulder with the blade, teeth bared in something that wasn't quite a smile. The skin on the shoulder split open and started bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice. He switched the knife to the other hand, then lunged at Bucky. He was faster and stronger than Bucky expected, but he still was able to sidestep out of the way and deflect the steel blade off his left forearm. He took advantage of Tim's momentary imbalance to grab the knife away, wrapping his metal hand around the blade and yanking it out of Tim's grasp in one smooth motion. He tossed the weapon behind the nurses station. He had no intention of using it on Tim, but he also didn't want Tim to get the blade back. Tim came back swinging his fist, moving with the sureness of a man who had been in more than one brawl in his time. It connected with Bucky's shoulder, and he let its momentum turn him slightly, then grabbed Tim's wrist and took him to the carpet with a judo throw. Tim grunted as he landed and attempted to roll over, but Bucky held him in place. They were suddenly surrounded by scrubs and security uniforms, swarming around the pair. They had found their courage now that the knife had been disposed of.

Bucky stood and backed away as they converged on Tim and his protests grew louder. He took a deep breath to gather himself and shook off the excess adrenaline still surging through him. There were a few glances in his direction, but nobody said anything to him. They were too busy with Tim, who was fighting with renewed vigor.

"Bucky!" A voice hissed from behind him. He turned to see Elaina gesturing for him to come back into the dayroom. Since he didn't have any better ideas of where to go, he stalked through the door, which she closed behind him. He paced back and forth for a few minutes until his heart stopped shuddering against his ribs, then walked back over to the window. Tim was still prostrate under a group of nurses and aides. Sierra stood from where she had been crouching by Tim's haunches and threw a syringe into a little red bin.

"Can you sit down, Bucky?" Elaina asked. "It's not a show. Give Tim some privacy." Bucky shot her an astonished look. Tim was surrounded by people; he doubted a concerned friend watching from a distance away would be more of an invasion his privacy.

"I just want to make sure he's okay," Bucky assured her. She didn't look happy at his answer but didn't argue with him. Bucky looked back to see Tim being assisted to his feet and walked down the hallway to the little concrete room. He was still struggling, still arguing. The group disappeared through the door. A few minutes later, most of them reappeared. By Bucky's count, at least one was staying behind in the room with Tim, maybe to watch him. He observed as the others chatted, discussed and joked in the chart room. The security guards left, and the extra staff slowly drifted away, one by one, leaving Sierra and Anne hunched over charts in the back room. Bucky glanced at Elaina, gesturing towards the door with a questioning look. She shrugged and nodded. He exited the dayroom, first turning as if to go back to his room, but then passing his door and walking to the end of the hallway before turning around. He had become accustomed to pacing the full unit before bed, just like he did in the mornings, but this time he had an extra motive. He went down the middle hallway next, making note that nothing was out of place. He turned down the hallway where they had taken Tim and walked by the door propped half-open. He slowed his pace enough to hear Tim's slurred rambling coming from behind the locked door. Jeff, the aide assigned to stay, replied, peering through the window in the door. Reassured, Bucky returned to his room and began his pre-bedtime routine. Hopefully Tim would be feeling better tomorrow, and he could help explain what the hell happened to him.


	16. Day 93

"Bucky, are you coming to the fitness center?" Sarah asked. Bucky glanced over at her in surprise; he'd lost track of time.

"Yes, I'll be right there," he confirmed. She nodded and left. He finished his journal entry and joined the group lining up by the unit doors. The group wasn't always as popular as Bucky expected; there had been days when he was the only one in attendance. Often Tim would also attend, but Bucky hadn't seen him since the night he had returned from pass. Tim's roommate, Duncan, had confirmed that he was still alive, at least. Today, Alec and Colin both joined, as well as Duncan and Justin. Bucky didn't know the latter two very well, but he knew they had arrived within the last month, and this was their first time going to the fitness center. Duncan was an older man, with a full beard and shaggy hair. He had some strange ideas, most of which he didn't talk about as much anymore. Bucky still found him a bit odd, but would readily admit that his barometer wasn't the most finely calibrated after three months in this institution. Justin was younger and slightly less disheveled, but tended to interrupt and ramble in groups. He fell in step beside Bucky as they made their way down the hallway towards the fitness center.

"You go to the gym a lot?" Justin asked, glancing rather blatantly at Bucky's arms and chest. "You look like you spend a lot of time at the gym." Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just here," he replied. "Not a lot else to do."

"True," Justin agreed. "I usually tell myself that I'm gonna go, and I'm good for a few days, but then I get… distracted. I mean, not here. When I'm on the outside. Do you lift with the metal one, too?" He poked Bucky's metal forearm with curiosity. Bucky sidestepped slightly, putting more space between his body and Justin's inquisitive hands.

"It's still connected to muscle," he replied shortly. "Don't want to get lopsided."

"Right, right," Justin concurred. "They don't have a lot of equipment here, though. Like, I wish they had more free weights. Plus, it seems like half the machines are always broken, and they're all really old. But I guess they wouldn't spend money on people like us to give us quality stuff, huh?" He cackled at his own joke.

"Jesus fucking Christ, do you ever shut up?" Alec growled at him. Justin looked taken aback, shutting his mouth suddenly as his smile disappeared. Bucky shot Alec a dirty look.

"Gee, Alec, do you always have to be an asshole?" he tossed back.

"Do you always have to stick your ugly nose in other people's business?" Colin shot at him. Bucky shrugged.

"Only when they're being an asshole," Bucky replied, not bothering to look at him.

"Knock it off, guys," Sarah scolded from the front of the group. "One more nasty comment and we're all going back to the unit." Bucky held his tongue, and tried to suppress the small grin of satisfaction that he had managed to get the last word in.

* * *

The fitness center was, as Justin had noted, filled with second-rate equipment, but it was still functional, at the very least. Bucky made his way over to the chest press, where he usually started, stretching the muscles in his flesh-and-blood arm before seating himself on the machine. Bending to the side, he set the weight at maximum. The machine only went to 210 pounds, which wasn't enough to challenge him, but if he did enough reps, it still gave him a nice burn. After a few reps, he noticed Justin watching him with eyes wide and jaw slack. Justin had been on the exercise bike, but at the moment was sitting still. He climbed down from the bike and walked over closer to Bucky.

"Holy shit, dude," Justin breathed. "You can lift that like it's nothin'." Bucky brought the handles back to neutral and took an easy breath. He didn't have to look around the room to see where the others were; his brain automatically kept track. Duncan was standing on the treadmill but hadn't turned it on yet. He was still fiddling with his music player. Alec was "spotting" Colin on the leg press, which was as close to free weights as they got in this fitness center. Sarah was perched on a stool by the doorway, watching all of them.

"Figured I'd do low weight, high reps today," he replied, baring his teeth in a grin of concentration as he pressed the bar away from him.

"L-low weight?" Justin repeated, his eyes widening to the size of tea saucers. He watched silently as Bucky did two more sets of twelve, then shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't let him fool you. It's that metal arm," Colin called from across the room, red-faced and sweating. "He couldn't lift that much without it." Bucky calmly finished his set, then turned around on the seat. Keeping his face carefully neutral, he reached up to the lat bar and grasped it in the center with his right hand. He stared ahead at nothing, though he could see Colin in his peripheral vision. Pulling straight down, he slowly let a breath out as he lifted the same weight with his flesh and blood arm, leaving the metal arm slack at his side. Slowly and deliberately, he did a set of 20. He was just starting to feel it now, but he hadn't yet broken a sweat. He wasn't sure without looking directly at him, but he thought he saw Colin go pale. Justin chortled in glee.

"Nope, Colin, you're wrong," he announced. "He really is just that badass." Colin's face went from white to red. He got up and stood in front of Bucky's machine.

"You tryin' to prove something, Barnes?" he growled. Bucky gave him a tolerant look from under his eyebrows.

"Just trying to get some exercise, Colin," he said evenly.

"Bullshit," Colin sneered.

"Yeah, you're full of shit," Alec chimed in from slightly behind Bucky. Bucky tensed slightly.

"Guys," Sarah said warningly. "We're here to exercise. It's not a competition. Everyone needs to go back to their stations."

"In a minute," Colin replied, not looking away from Bucky. "I just want to see what the Iron Man wannabe here can do, since he thinks he's hot shit." He gripped the cables suspending the weights, visibly pulling on them. "C'mon, man," Colin taunted. "Show me what you got." Bucky sat back and dropped his hands to his thighs, contemplating his options. What Colin wanted him to do was get drawn into this pissing contest. Of course, Colin thought he would be strong enough to hold the cable in place and keep Bucky from pulling down the bar. What would actually happen was that Colin would have broken fingers after Bucky did another rep and smashed the man's hand between the weights and the frame of the machine. He contemplated that image with some satisfaction for a moment. Then he shook his head and stood up.

"I don't have to prove anything to you, Colin," he declared, moving over to the fly machine. He set that at the highest level and did an experimental rep.

"Are you sure about that, Bucky?" Colin taunted. "I think you're just a pussy."

"Colin, knock it off or we're going back to the unit and your level is dropped," Sarah reprimanded. As Bucky attempted his next rep, the handles wiggled slightly, but would not move all the way. He suspected Colin had something to do with it, but wasn't going to turn around and look and give him the satisfaction. He also wasn't going to let Colin win. He frowned in concentration and pulled harder, feeling his chest muscles flex and strain. The machine creaked, then squealed, and then the handles came crashing towards the center, slamming together with a loud bang. Bucky finally turned to see what the hell was going on. The butterfly arms swung freely, no longer hindered by any weight. The cables drooped over the base of the machine, spilling out across the mats like dead snakes. He glanced down and saw that one of the discs that was usually used to weigh down the hip sled had been jammed into the stack of weights at the back of the machine.

"What the hell….?" He muttered under his breath.

"Okay, that's it," Sarah announced. "We're all going back to the unit. Colin, your level is dropped to Bronze."

"What?" he sputtered. "Why? He's the one who broke the machine." Sarah shook her head at him.

"I'm not debating this with you. You know what you did," she said evenly. "Come on, Duncan. We're going back." Duncan had finally gotten the treadmill going, and was sedately pacing, ears stopped up with his music player, oblivious to the events unfolding in the room. He didn't seem to hear Sarah. Bucky stood up and tapped on the frame of the treadmill. Duncan looked up abruptly, startled. Bucky gestured towards the door, and he blinked at the group gathered there. Nodding, he climbed down and joined them.

"Man, this sucks," Justin declared. "We only got, what, fifteen minutes?" They started back down the hallway towards the unit. Colin and Alec walked at the front of the group, outpacing Sarah and mumbling about the unfairness of it all. Bucky hung back behind the aide, wanting to keep space between him and his antagonist.

"Treat the equipment and each other with respect, and you'll be able to stay the full forty-five minutes," Sarah reminded them. Justin sighed heavily.

"Sorry," Bucky said to him quietly. He was only slightly annoyed at not being able to finish his workout, and he was smugly happy that Colin and Alec had to go back, but he did feel bad that Duncan and Justin were being punished, too, when they hadn't really caused any trouble. Justin shrugged.

"It's okay," he sighed, then brightened. "That was still one of the most awesome things I've ever seen. That cable just snapped like it was yarn or something. You really are a BAMF!"

"A… bamf?" Bucky repeated blankly. Justin laughed.

"Yeah, you know…. Bad Ass Mother Fucker," he explained. "BAMF." Bucky raised his eyebrows. Last he knew, motherfucker was an insult, but Justin's expression was earnest, and he seemed to think he had paid Bucky a compliment.

"That's a good thing?" Bucky asked skeptically. Justin laughed.

"Well, yeah. It's awesome," he insisted. Bucky mulled that over, then with an amused "hmph" and a shrug, he nodded at Justin.

"Thanks." They reached the unit doors and went in. Alec shot Bucky a dirty look over his shoulder as he and Colin stalked down the hallways towards their respective rooms. Sarah paused at the nursing station and turned to face them.

"You know, Bucky, I probably have to drop your level, too," she said reluctantly.

"Do you really have to?" he asked. "I won't tell anyone if you don't." Sarah gave him a tolerant smile.

"But I still have to explain why the fly machine is broken," she pointed out. "And technically…" Bucky grimaced.

"I broke it. So, I'm grounded," he sighed. Sarah's eyes twinkled at him.

"Just until you earn you level back. Shouldn't take you long." Her eyes dropped for a moment, and he thought he saw her gaze linger on his chest for half a second before she looked back up at his face. Raising an eyebrow at him, she turned and made her way back into the chart room.

* * *

Bucky hadn't eaten his lunch and dinner on the unit for a couple months. He had almost forgotten how early the supper trays came. He came out to get his tray after being summoned from his room but hesitated at the door. Colin was already seated at one of the tables, tray in front of him. He glanced up and saw Bucky through the wire-reinforced window. His eyes narrowed. Bucky backed away slowly. He could sense that a confrontation was simmering, and he wasn't eager for it. As much as he would enjoy punching Colin's face, he was only too aware that in another three months he would be standing in front of the judge who would decide if he was safe enough to return to society. He was already more acquainted with the legal system than he wanted to be, and he was pretty sure "I did, but he really deserved it, Your Honor," wouldn't hold water. He retreated to his room. He could eat his tray later. He wasn't accustomed to eating this early anyway.

"Were you going to eat your tray?" Sierra asked with a knock at the door. Bucky looked up.

"Later," he affirmed. "When it's less crowded." Sierra looked at him keenly, then gave a knowing nod.

"Want me to let you know when Colin's done?" she asked dryly. Bucky looked at her askance.

"I'd appreciate it," he replied.

* * *

By the time he returned to the dayroom for his tray, the unit was quiet, with most of the others off the unit at the cafeteria. The ones who were eating on the unit were back in their rooms, all except for one. Tim sat at the only occupied table, eyes at half mast as he shoveled food in his mouth automatically. He barely looked up as Bucky sat down across from him.

"Hey, Tim," Bucky said casually. Tim raised his eyebrows and grunted in response. They ate in silence for several minutes. Tim swallowed a mouthful of food, sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.

"Guess I owe you a thank you. And an apology," he said, his eyes finally opening all the way. Bucky shrugged.

"I just want to know what the hell happened to you," he replied. Tim shook his head.

"I fucked up, man," he groaned. "Ten months sober, and the first time I faced temptation, I fuckin' dove off that wagon." Bucky wasn't sure what to say to that, so he took another bite of food and chewed slowly. Tim leaned forward and ran a hand down his face. "I was just going to run up to my apartment, grab a few things. Got up there, my roommate's getting geared up with some of his buddies. Our buddies. The ones I used to use with. Of course, they wanted me to share the pipe." He shook his head. "The craving kicked in, and I couldn't resist. It was almost like my hand took it without my brain telling it to. Eric came up to check on me, but one of the guys pulled a gun on him, so he backed down." He waved a hand vaguely. "The next bit is kind of a blur. Didn't sleep at all between then and when the cops brought me back here. The shit I did… Never would have done any of it sober. It's like that shit just takes over. Now, I can hardly drag my ass out of bed, and the voices in my head keep telling me what garbage I am. Pretty sure I blew my chances at that apartment. Now I'll be lucky if they decide to send me to treatment rather than jail." He glanced sideways at Bucky. "I'm just glad you stopped me before I hurt anyone."

"Me, too," Bucky replied quietly. Tim's mouth twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. Then that faded, and he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, then scratching along his hairline. He looked over at Bucky expectantly.

"Go ahead, it's okay. You can tell me I'm an idiot," he said gruffly.

"Okay," Bucky said amiably. "You're an idiot." Tim groaned and chuckled self-deprecatingly. Bucky took another bite of his supper, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "But I can't think of anything worse than not feeling in control of yourself. Like it's someone or something else using your body…" Tim sat up straighter and looked at him keenly.

"Didn't realize you had a history with addiction," he commented. Bucky shook his head slightly.

"I don't," he denied. "But I'm familiar with that particular feeling." Tim's expression soured.

"You think so, huh?" He shook his head. "You wanna know the most fucked up part? I was almost hoping that shit would kill me, so I don't have to fight it anymore." Bucky finished the last of his food and set his fork back down.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad it didn't," he commented sincerely. "As long as you're still alive, you can still make different choices, turn everything around." Maybe it sounded trite. He recalled those first few months after escaping Hydra, when his memories had started to trickle back via nightmares and flashbacks, and the knowledge of what he had done under their command settled heavy on his shoulders and his heart. There had been bleak nights when he struggled with the same sentiment Tim was sharing. Maybe the little pep talks he had given himself on occasion would be helpful to Tim as well. Tim didn't look convinced.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is?" He shook his head. "Even now, I'm hating myself for giving in, but at the same time I'm craving more of it so bad." Bucky shrugged.

"I didn't say it was easy, just that it was possible," he pointed out. Tim gave him a scathing look. Bucky grinned at him. "I believe you can do hard things, Tim." Tim rolled his eyes. He had been present in the group that Bucky was referencing. Laura had used the phrase during her lecture, and it had become something a joke, both in that group and on the unit. Bucky wasn't entirely sure whether he was using it jokingly or being sincere in the moment, but he hoped Tim would take it however he needed it. Tim opened his mouth and seemed like he was going to say more on the topic, but Paul strolled into the dayroom just then, and Sierra walked in a few moments later. Tim shut his mouth and focused his full attention on his tray. Bucky sat in companionable silence, letting Tim finish his meal in peace.


	17. Day 100

Bucky was still in the habit of rising early. He had noticed a slight mental fuzziness in the mornings since taking the prazosin at night, but that usually disappeared by the time he got out of the shower. Morning mental fuzz aside, he had been sleeping better, with the graphic and disturbing dreams appearing less often. He stretched and yawned, then padded out barefoot to request some towels. The familiar face behind the nurses station was one he hadn't seen in some time, but his expression brightened.

"Hey," he greeted her. "Haven't seen you in a while." Bridget grinned at him.

"Good morning, Bucky," she replied. "It's my first shift back." He tilted his head to the side, calculating.

"How long has it been?" he asked. "Three months?" She shook her head.

"Two. Eight weeks, to be exact," she sighed. Bucky frowned slightly.

"I didn't think you were going to come back at all," he admitted. In his mind, it didn't seem right, that a woman would be working so soon after having a baby. She sighed.

"Oh, there was definitely part of me that didn't want to. It was hard to leave my baby girl. But we need my paycheck, and it's nice to be something other than mommy. Plus, I miss talking with actual adults." A shadow passed over her face. "But now that I'm here, I wish I was still home with her." She smiled sadly down at her phone, then turned it so he could see the image of a bald, sleeping baby. "Isn't she precious?"

"Very," he agreed. It just looked like a baby to him, but he didn't see any harm in agreeing. Bridget sighed and put down her phone.

"I was kind of surprised that you're still here," she informed him.

"Why is that?" Bucky asked. "Court papers said six months."

"Yeah, but most people don't stay here that whole time. They stabilize enough to be in the community and get provisionally discharged," she pointed out. "And you seemed stable before I left." Bucky shrugged.

"Pretty sure I'm here for the duration," he sighed. She frowned slightly.

"Why is that?" she asked. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Because I'm dangerous. Didn't you know?" He kept his tone light, but a little bit of bitterness crept in. Bridget snorted and shook her head.

"Yeah, sure," she scoffed.

"You don't think so?" Bucky asked in surprise. She shrugged.

"I'm sure you could do damage, if you had to," she conceded. "But you don't give off that creepy, malicious vibe that some of the others do." Bucky wasn't sure what to say to that, but he recalled that he had a reason for coming out of his room so early.

"Can I get some towels?" he requested.

"You mean you didn't come out just to say hi to me?" Bridget teased, standing with a smile as she crossed to the linen closet. He gave her a sheepish half-grin.

"Well, I didn't know you were here," he retorted. "I just wanted to take a shower."

"Fair enough," she said cheerfully, handing him a short stack of towels. "Do you need anything else? Shampoo, soap?"

"No, I've got all that. Thanks." Bucky let the towels drape over his arm and carried them back to his room.

* * *

"…by all reports, you seem to be doing well." Dr. Greenmyer looked over the top of his glasses at Bucky. "Does that match your perception as well?" Bucky shrugged.

"I mean, I thought I was doing okay before they sent me here. But I'm sleeping better," he mentioned. "Been feeling a little stir crazy, though." He took a deep breath. If he didn't ask, the answer was automatically no. "Do you think I could have a pass? Steve would be willing to…" His voice trailed off as Dr. Greenmyer shook his head.

"I wish I could, Bucky," he said ruefully. "I would discharge you tomorrow if it were up to me. Sadly, my hands are tied. Your court papers are very specific. No passes and you aren't to leave grounds until they review your case at the end of the six months." Bucky's shoulders dropped. He had suspected that was the case, but it didn't hurt to ask anyway. "I did notice, however, that you seem to have lost a little weight. About twenty-three pounds, to be precise. One of the side effects of your medications can be decreased appetite. Do you think that could be a factor?" Bucky let out a short bark of laughter.

"I doubt it. I'm hungry all the time," he confessed. "My trays… don't really fill me up."

"Well, maybe that is something I can do something about," Dr. Greenmyer said kindly. "Would double portions be helpful?" Bucky's stomach growled loudly, and he put a hand over it, slightly embarrassed.

"Ah, maybe. I'd be willing to try it."

* * *

His next trip to the cafeteria was much more satisfying, as they heaped twice as much food on his tray. It wasn't as delicious as he remembered the food from his cooking class being, but hunger seasons even the dullest dishes, and soon his plate was empty. He sat back and noticed that for once the persistent, gnawing hunger had eased in the pit of his stomach. He would probably be hungry again in a couple hours, but for now at least, he was feeling good. The group arrived back on the unit, and he headed for the dayroom. He paused in the doorway; there was a girl at one of the tables picking over her lunch tray. He hadn't seen her before, but he wasn't aware of any new arrivals within the last week. She scarcely looked old enough to be on an adult unit. Shadows of healing bruises stained a ring around her neck. Her expression was vacant, her eyes dull and hopeless as she mechanically lifted food into her mouth and chewed. Her sleeve slid back as she raised her arm, and he caught sight of an angry red scar running lengthwise on her inner arm. Bucky approached, his curiosity piqued.

"Hi," he greeted softly. "Are you new?" She finished chewing her mouthful of food and swallowed, and at first he wasn't certain his words had even registered. Then she shrugged.

"Guess so."

"I'm Bucky," he continued. He didn't extend his hand; they weren't supposed to touch, and that gesture was dicey in this setting anyway. "I didn't think we'd had any new admissions this week."

"Oh, I've been here longer than a week." The girl raised her hand and peered at her wristband, then glanced at the calendar on the wall. "I've been here seventeen days now." Bucky raised his eyebrows in surprise. How had she managed to be there that long without him seeing her before this? "I've mostly been in my room. When they aren't sending me for ECT." He frowned, not recognizing the acronym. She sighed but didn't elaborate.

"What did you say your name was?" Bucky asked. She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"I didn't, but it's Chloe. Chloe Thompson." She extended her hand towards him. "Nice to meet you, Bucky." He glanced around to see if any staff were watching, then shook her hand.

"Likewise," he replied. The television was on, turned to the Cooking Channel, and he let his attention wander there. He still felt her gaze on him, and glanced over to see her staring at him, expression wide-eyed and stunned. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You okay?" he asked. She looked away quickly, guilt flashing across her face.

"Fine," she said softly. Her gaze dropped back down to her still-half-full tray.

"What was that thing you mentioned?" Bucky asked, trying to recall the acronym. "ETC? What are they doing to you?"

"ECT," she corrected faintly. She shrugged. "They put me out for it, so I don't know all the details. As I understand it, they put electrodes on my head and, like, zap my brain into behaving." Bucky's eyes widened. What she was describing sounded remarkably familiar, and it made his stomach lurch.

"That sounds… terrible," he managed.

"It does," she agreed. "They didn't really give me a choice about it. Court ordered. But usually I just wake up with a headache and some fuzzy memories of things I'd rather not remember anyway. And this is the first time I've been able to get up and eat a meal outside of my room in about four months, so something must be working." He mulled that over as he let his attention drift back over to the television. The man on the screen was making some kind of corn and lobster chowder, which sounded amazing, decadent and expensive. Bucky fumbled for a sheet of scratch paper and began taking notes. Chloe continued to move food around her tray with her fork, and he kept feeling her eyes on him, but whenever he glanced over at her, she was looking back down at her tray.

Colin and Alec trouped into the dayroom a short time later. Colin looked from Bucky to the television and back again, then snorted derisively. Shaking his head slightly, he crossed the room and switched the channel on the television. Bucky set his pen down in annoyance. He hadn't gotten all of the steps written down, and crucial information was missing.

"Hey, do you mind?" he snapped. "We were watching that." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe stiffen. He wasn't trying to drag her into this feud, but he knew full well Colin didn't give a shit that he'd interrupted Bucky's program. He was hoping having another person to consider might get them to back off.

"Don't let them make you mad," she whispered. "That's exactly what they want." With a grin, Colin swaggered closer to Bucky.

"I do, actually," he taunted. "What are you gonna do about it?" Bucky leveled a glare at him, making no effort to conceal his loathing.

"As satisfying as it would be to kick your ass," he growled, "I'm not willing to give up my chances of getting out of here over a petty pissant like you." Colin leered at him.

"Is that so?" he scoffed. Crossing the room, he leaned forward and rested his hands on the table, bringing his face closer to Bucky's. "Did you really think we were going to give you a choice?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alec pushing the weighted furniture across the now-closed door to the dayroom, barricading them in.

"Bucky, you should get out of here," Chloe whispered. Bucky glanced over to see that she had gone white, her wide, fearful eyes flicking between Colin and Alec. He stood, rising to meet Colin's challenge. He was maybe half an inch taller than Bucky, but it seemed like he flinched as Bucky took a step towards him.

"Whatever beef you have with me, it has nothing to do with her," he said, gesturing towards Chloe, still sitting frozen at the table. "Let her leave." Colin snorted.

"Look at who's trying to be the fucking hero again," he said mockingly. "I guess she's going to learn what a dangerous person you are to be around, huh?" Bucky stepped to the side, trying to keep his body between the girl and the two bullies. On the other side of the barricaded doors, he could see a flurry of movement as the staff realized something was happening. Colin and Alec circled like vultures.

"We'll have some fun with her once we're finished with you," Alec taunted. Bucky tensed, his jaw clenching

"Ain't nobody gonna rescue you this time, princess," Colin sneered. Bucky wasn't entirely certain whether the comment was directed at Chloe or him. Colin took off his sweatshirt, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. Bucky moved towards the door, intending to pull the furniture away, but Alec blocked his path. He swung a sock through the air. The end of the sock bulged and stretched, divulging that its contents were heavy and probably hard. Bucky backed away slowly, weighing his options. He wasn't likely to get out of this one without doing some damage. Hopefully the judge wouldn't hold it against him.

A loud crash from the other side of the room drew his attention sharply. Colin had smashed his sweatshirt-wrapped fist into the glass-and-metal housing that encased the fire extinguisher and pried the red cylinder out. He approached Bucky, wielding the upside-down extinguisher like a club. Behind him, Alec was banging the weighted sock against the wall, making loud, distracting thumps and clangs. Baring his teeth, Colin rushed towards Bucky. His steps stuttered as a half-empty lunch tray flew into his face, and Bucky glanced over his shoulder to see Chloe slowly backing away. There was still fear in her expression, but that was almost overshadowed by indignant fury.

"You little bitch!" Colin shifted course slightly, aiming the fire extinguisher at the new target. Bucky stepped in swiftly to intervene, blocking the downward swing of the extinguisher with his left arm. Pushing Colin backwards, he upended a nearby table and sent it sailing into his would-be assailant. Colin went over backwards, tripping over a chair and going down hard. The fire extinguisher flew out of his hands. Before Bucky could retrieve it, Alec came after him, spinning the weighted sock like a flail. The heavy end bounced off Bucky's shoulder. That would be a bruise later. Turning, Bucky put his left arm out in anticipation of the next blow. Rather than smashing into his head, the sock wrapped around his wrist. With a hard yank, he wrenched the makeshift weapon from Alec's hands. As the smaller man staggered towards him, he landed a punch square in Alec's face. Alec went down hard, clutching a nose suddenly spurting blood. Bucky kicked him over onto his stomach and quickly bound Alec's hands behind his back with the loose end of the weaponized sock.

"You didn't learn your lesson the first time. Better stay down, idiot," he growled in Alec's ear. Blood was dripping from the smaller man's nose onto the carpet. On the other side of the dayroom doors, two of the nurses peered through, trying to shove the doors open, but the barricade held fast. Glancing over at Chloe, he noticed that she had turned her table on its side and was hiding behind it, using the layers of particle board and laminate as a shield. Then he was distracted by Colin coming at him once again, the recovered fire extinguisher in his hands.

Colin didn't have the advantage of serum-enhanced reflexes and strength, but he had one thing going for him: Bucky was trying very hard not to outright kill him. Although he was no supersoldier, his strength was obvious as he rained blow after blow down on the former Winter Soldier. Bucky blocked the hits, turning them into glancing blows at best, taking a few steps back to let Colin think he had the advantage. On the last swing, he stepped to the side and gripped Colin's wrist, tightening his grip until he felt bones crunch and pop. Colin howled in pain and tried to swing the fire extinguisher at Bucky again, this time with an awkward right hook. Bucky caught the extinguisher with his left hand and squeezed. The pressurized metal squealed and screeched, then exploded, sending fine white chemical powder out in all directions. Colin coughed but staggered towards Bucky, hands clenched into fists. Bucky ducked under a haymaker and dodged an uppercut before stepping in closer and pounding Colin's ribs with both fists. Colin gasped and stepped backwards as ribs fractured under Bucky's onslaught. Bucky took a step back and kicked Colin square in the chest. The sandy-haired man went over backwards, landing heavily on the carpet. Bucky flipped one of the weighted chairs upside down over him, pinning him to the floor.

"Stay down," Bucky advised the man. He took a moment to breathe, the flame retardant chemicals still burning in his lungs. The parking lot on the other side of the dayroom windows was filled with police cars, red and blue lights strobing through the glass. Bucky sighed and went to move the furniture blockade across the doors. First, he paused by the table Chloe had hidden behind. He peeked around the edge to see her crouched between the metal legs. She appeared untouched and unharmed. Even the white powder that covered everything else like a fine dusting of toxic snow had missed her.

"You okay?" he asked. She nodded, taking in a shaky breath.

"Are you?" she asked in reply, looking him over with wide eyes. Now that the adrenaline was subsiding, he was sore in several places, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever endured.

"I'll be fine," he assured her. Crossing the room to the door, he pulled the furniture away. Opening the door, he crossed to the nursing station, where a large crowd had gathered. Some police uniforms were scattered among the familiar security attire, business casual outfits and nursing scrubs. Two dozen pairs of eyes looked at him with varying degrees of apprehension. "They might need some medical attention," he announced, gesturing over his shoulder at the dayroom. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe slip out and head down the middle hallway. Deciding that a shower was in order, Bucky turned and walked down the hall towards his room. Nobody moved to stop him.

* * *

By the time he was out of the shower, he had two police officers and a medical doctor lined up to look him over and get a statement. He kept waiting for them to take out handcuffs and inform him that he was under arrest, but they left without issuing so much as a citation. The doctor – not Dr. Greenmyer, but one from the medical clinic upstairs – hovered and fussed over him. Bucky knew from his own inspection in the shower that he had several deep cuts, courtesy of the exploding fire extinguisher, and the discolorations on his face and torso were already starting to darken into bruises. Dr. Hamami clucked and tutted as he inspected Bucky's injuries.

"A couple of these may need stitches," he announced. Bucky shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he insisted. "I heal fast."

"The one on your face may leave a nasty scar," the doctor countered. Bucky smiled, feeling the laceration on his cheek twinge in protest.

"In a couple days, you won't even know anything happened," he assured the physician. "I appreciate the concern, but it's not necessary." He said it to be polite, but found that he truly did appreciate the fuss. It was a refreshing change from returning from missions for Hydra, who never bothered to check his injuries, since his healing factor guaranteed a fast recovery. Dr. Hamami didn't look convinced but merely shrugged.

"Very well. I will write for some painkillers. Let the nurse know if you need any," he said encouragingly. Bucky nodded, knowing that he wouldn't ask for them.

* * *

When he ventured back out on the unit, small crowd was gathered in the hallway, peering through the windows and murmuring amongst themselves. A hush fell over the gathered patients as Bucky approached. He found the dayroom doors were locked, with the emergency door to the outside propped open. Most of the white powder had been cleaned up, and a dark, wet spot on the carpet was all that remained from the puddle of blood that had drained from Alec's face.

"There you are." Bucky glanced over at the familiar voice. Chloe approached, her eyes widening as she looked him over.

"You look better than I thought you would after that fight," she commented. Bucky gave her a half-smile. He was woefully out of practice, but he suspected she might be flirting with him.

"Thanks," he replied, his half-smile widening into a grin. Chloe rolled her eyes.

"I just meant that you were bleeding and looked pretty banged up," she clarified. "Don't get any ideas. You're not exactly my type." He raised his eyebrows at her. He didn't think his thoughts had been that obvious.

"You prefer blonds?" he asked. She would probably be more interested in Steve, just like most of the ladies were after his transformation. She shook her head at him.

"No, I prefer women," she replied coolly.

"Oh." He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he changed the subject. "What happened to Colin and Alec? I don't see them out here." Chloe leaned on the nursing station.

"The doctor came down and stitched them up, and then they left with the cops," she relayed. "I hope they throw the book at them." Bucky shook his head.

"They'll probably be back in a couple days," he sighed. He would just have to enjoy the reprieve in their absence.

* * *

Without the dayroom available, the evening routine was thrown off, but many of the patients spent the rest of the evening in their rooms anyhow. The nursing staff tried to provide plenty of distractions, with the evening culminating in a ping-pong tournament. Bucky was grateful for the effort, although even the competition didn't require enough skill to completely distract him. He handily beat Justin in their second game, 11 to 1, amid the cheers and howls of the onlookers. As they set up for the third (and probably last) game, Steve followed Tammy through the unit doors. Bucky grinned and set the paddle down on the table.

"I forfeit," he announced. "Guess you win, Justin." Justin groaned.

"Aww, man. I don't want to win like that," he protested. Bucky shrugged.

"We'll have a rematch later," he promised, following Steve down to the visiting room at the end of the hall. He settled comfortably into one of the chairs. Steve sat down across from him, the familiar wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"How you doing, Buck?" he asked, his eyes taking in the bruises and lacerations visible on Bucky's face, neck and arms. "You look like I do after a mission. Worse, maybe." Bucky touched the scabbed-over gash on his cheek.

"Just one of the other patients, carrying a grudge," he sighed. Steve frowned and peered out the door at the people still gathered around the table tennis match.

"Really?" Steve asked incredulously. "Which one?" Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Colin," he clarified. "With some help from Alec." Steve's eyebrows raised. He'd heard both those names before, on previous visits.

"Do I need to go talk to them?" he asked in a paternal tone. Bucky chuckled.

"I can handle my own fights, Steve, but thanks anyway," he demurred. "They're not here right now, anyway." Steve frowned.

"Why not?" he asked. "Where are they?" The look he was giving Bucky was both concerned and slightly suspicious. Bucky shrugged.

"At a hospital. Or in jail. I don't really know." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Or care. It's nicer on the unit with them gone."

"But they're still alive?" Steve hedged. He didn't come right out and say it, but the tension in his words told Bucky he was concerned that might not be the case. Bucky gave him a reproving look.

"Of course," he said scornfully. "I told you I don't do that anymore." Relief flashed across Steve's face, quickly chased by guilt for asking.

"So, how are you, ah, otherwise?" Steve asked. Bucky relaxed, relieved that he wasn't going to harp on it.

"Not too bad," he replied noncommittally. "They finally put me on double rations, so I'm not so hungry tonight."

"It took them this long?" Steve said in surprise. "The army had me on those right away."

"Yeah, well…" Bucky shrugged.

"You know, I tried to bring food in for you at least three different times," Steve ruminated. "They always found it, though, and made me take it back."

"Yeah, they're good at that," Bucky mused. "Professional killjoys." He shifted in his seat. "So what have you been up to? I'm tired of talking about me." Steve chuckled.

"Well, you know. We're still figuring out this whole Accords thing. It's made the Avengers a little more complicated. Tony is still gloating, which makes him even less pleasant than usual to work with. They still won't let Wanda leave the compound, which doesn't sit right with me, but none of my arguing seems to make any difference." Steve sighed.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said softly. It was not lost on him that Steve might have had a different outcome if he had not made the deal to keep Bucky from being locked up forever. Steve shrugged.

"We'll figure something out, I'm sure," he said resignedly.

"What about personal life?" Bucky asked next. "You don't mention much about that. There's got to be some modern women interested in an old-fashioned super soldier. The ladies were certainly fawning over you back in the forties." Steve shook his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe they are, but I'm not really looking. It's only been a few months since Peggy died, and I'm just… not ready yet," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Fair enough," Bucky said quietly.

"Um, there was one thing I should probably mention," Steve said hesitantly. "There's been a reporter trying to talk to me. I mean, not about me, but about you." Bucky grimaced. He should have known it wasn't over, even though the phone calls had mostly stopped.

"Let me guess. Virginia Porter?" he ventured. Steve's face brightened.

"So she talked to you, too," he realized. Bucky shook his head, and Steve's face fell.

"She's been trying," Bucky acknowledged, "but I don't have anything I want to say to her."

"Well, I did," Steve admitted. Bucky gave him a disbelieving look. "She wanted someone who could give a, a human perspective, tell your side of the story. And I thought… I mean, it's your story to tell, not mine, but if she was going to move ahead with the story, I thought it would be better with that perspective than without." Bucky sat back in his chair, mulling Steve's words over. Truthfully, it felt like a punch in the gut. It felt like betrayal. It must have shown on his face, because Steve immediately began scrambling and backtracking. "But maybe I was wrong. Look, I'll give her a call and tell her she can't use any of my interview, okay? If you don't want me to be a part of it, then I won't." Bucky sat motionless, processing. After a long moment, he stood and walked to the door. Steve started after him. "Buck, don't leave. Just tell me how I can make it right." Bucky paused, one hand on the door handle, and turned back towards Steve.

"I don't know, Steve," he said honestly. "Right now, I just need a little time." Not waiting for a response, he left and went back to his room. Closing his door securely behind him, he lay down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts racing and his stomach sick. Of all the day's injuries, this last one had hurt the most.


	18. Day 115

To Bucky's surprise, Colin and Alec did not return in the next few days, or even in the next week. Two weeks later, he began to hope that perhaps they would not be returning at all. Steve had not visited again, which was a significant change from the past couple months. Bucky missed the visits, but part of him was relieved. He was still unhappy that Steve had met with Virginia Porter, and wasn't sure he was ready to discuss it yet.

He was up for breakfast early, as usual. With his tray loaded, he settled in to eat in the relative silence, while the hush still was settled over the unit and most of the others were still asleep. He sat with his back to the wall, watching as the next shift arrived and the other patients woke up and wandered towards the dayroom for breakfast. The phones turned back on at 0800, but there typically weren't calls that early. Bucky was surprised to hear it ring, but ignored it. There was nobody he wanted to talk to right now. Chloe poked her head into the dayroom, hair mussed and eyes still heavy from sleep.

"Phone's for you, Bucky," she said, voice still hoarse and groggy. Bucky shook his head.

"I'm not taking any calls," he replied. She made a face at him.

"Do you want me to take a message?" she asked. He shrugged noncommittally.

"You can if you like," he granted. She sighed and disappeared out the door once more. Dominic wandered through the door, looking sleepy and disheveled. He meandered over to the kitchen doorway and collected his breakfast. His movements no longer carried the frantic, frenetic energy Bucky had gotten used to.

"Hey, Dominic," Bucky called out. The slight man blinked in his direction and carried his tray to Bucky's table.

"Good morning, Bucky," he said. He sat down and looked at Bucky, and for the first time, it seemed like he was actually seeing him.

"You haven't been in the halls as much," Bucky observed. "For awhile there, I wondered if you discharged." Dominic took a bite of his breakfast and shook his head.

"They have me on a new medication," he explained. "It made me really, really tired at first. But I can get up now again."

"You're awake now," Bucky observed, recalling their earlier conversation where Dominic had insisted that he was asleep. Dominic nodded slowly.

"I am," he agreed. "And the voices are gone." He didn't sound thrilled by the fact. Bucky's eyes widened.

"That's great, then, isn't it?" he asked. Dominic shrugged.

"I guess so. But…" he paused and pushed his spoon through his bowl of cereal for a minute. "I haven't been alone in my head since I was fourteen. It's kinda… lonely, actually." Bucky paused in his meal, unsure what to say to that. He was saved from having to respond by Chloe plopping down in the other chair next to him. She shoved a piece of paper across the table at him.

"Here. I'm not your secretary, but he said it was important," she explained, then got up to go get her food. Bucky frowned down at the piece of paper. Steve apologized again, then explained that the Avengers were out on an extended mission, so he would be out of contact for awhile – unable to visit, unable to call. He wasn't sure when he would be back, but he would contact Bucky as soon as he could. Bucky folded the note carefully and slid it into his pocket as Chloe sat back down. She opened the carton of milk and poured it over her cereal, shaking her head at Bucky. "I still can't believe that you are BFFs with Captain America." Bucky frowned at her slightly.

"BFFs?" he repeated. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Am I wrong?" she asked. "You seem pretty close."

"He doesn't know a lot of modern slang," Dominic observed helpfully. Bucky shot him a surprised look. Evidently Dominic paid more attention than he realized, even while carrying on conversations with the voices in his head.

"BFF means best friends forever," Chloe explained helpfully. Bucky raised his eyebrows, thinking of their childhood together, fighting as brothers in arms, then separated for decades. He had forgotten himself and his friend completely, and Steve had risked everything to remind him who he was. Bucky had almost killed him. Then he had left him behind and not seen him again until he showed up looking for him in Bucharest. His stay in the hospital had, if nothing else, given him time to slowly rebuild something that felt like a friendship with Steve. Steve had given up so much for him, brought him gifts, taken the time to visit even when his life was getting busy with other things. He had been a greater friend to Bucky than the former assassin had realized. He suddenly felt bad about being angry with him. What had Bucky's friendship brought Steve aside from stress and sacrifice? A wave of fear washed over him, that Steve would do something stupid on this mission and get himself killed. He didn't want their last interaction to be a fight. He glanced up and realized both Chloe and Dominic were looking at him. He shook his head slightly.

"It's a little more complicated than that," he murmured.

"What's more complicated?" Justin asked as he sat down at the remaining place at the table.

"Bucky's relationship with Captain America," Chloe volunteered before Bucky could reply. Justin frowned slightly, then grinned, eyes alight with speculation.

"Why? Is he your boyfriend?" he asked. Without waiting for Bucky's answer, he forged ahead as one thought spawned another. "I bet it was a case of forbidden love back when you guys were in the army together, right? Because it wasn't really accepted back then, so it's not like you'd be able to be open about it…."

"No," Chloe interrupted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded Bucky with a keen expression. "It's not that kind of thing. There's a lot of love, but also a lot of history…" Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Hey, how about nobody speculates on my personal life before I've even finished my coffee?" he remarked sharply. Chloe and Justin's expressions both turned sheepish instantly. Even Dominic looked a bit guilty, even though he hadn't been doing any speculating out loud. Bucky picked up his coffee and slowly took a small, very deliberate sip before pointedly setting it down, still half-full.

* * *

"….just keep thinking about how much he's done for me, and that I've been a shitty friend in comparison, and how do I even justify being mad at him? Plus, now, he's off somewhere, doing God knows what. He'll do something reckless, because Steve always does, and I'm not there now to help him get out of it. What if… what if he doesn't come back? What if the last thing I ever say to him was when I was mad at him?" Bucky sat back in his chair, deflated, clasping his hands together in front of him. Deborah regarded him calmly.

"There's a lot to unpack there, I think," she observed. "First of all, I doubt that Steve would have stuck by you like he has if you weren't a good friend. You've been doing the best you can. After the trauma you've been through and the situation you're in now, it can be tricky to re-establish relationships and navigate your way through normal interactions. That doesn't make you a bad friend. Most good friendships have both give and take. Right now, it's your turn to take what he is offering, but that doesn't mean you've never been on the giving end. I challenge you to think of times when it was the other way around, when you were the one sacrificing for him." Bucky contemplated this in silence. Deborah gave him time to think, but didn't press him for a response. After several minutes, when no answer was forthcoming, she continued. "Secondly, even though they seem contradictory, all of your feelings are valid. You can be grateful to Steve for his friendship, worried about what might happen to him while he's gone and be angry that he didn't respect your privacy about your past all at the same time. They don't cancel each other out. That's not how feelings work." Bucky groaned and tilted his head into his hands.

"This shit was so much less complicated when all I had to think about was survival," he grumbled. "I mean, it was fucking lonely, and empty, and damn exhausting thinking tactically. Nobody was a friend or even really a person, there were only potential threats. It was… meaningless existence. But it was simpler, at least." Deborah never corrected him when he swore; she had told him specifically that she was not interested in stifling any form of self-expression so long as it wasn't harming anyone.

"Welcome to the messy, painful business of being a functional, feeling human," Deborah said gently. Bucky raised a sardonic eyebrow at her.

"That's not exactly comforting," he remarked dryly. She smiled at him.

"Maybe not at first blush," she agreed. "But I find that most of life's truths have a certain comfort once you wrestle with them for awhile."

* * *

As usual, Bucky left his therapy session feeling better and more introspective at the same time. Some of the guilt had been assuaged, but he found himself in a thoughtful fugue. In the dayroom, someone had left the daily newspaper on one of the tables. His gaze fell on it, and a headline jumped out at him:  _Western Coastal Europe Attacked by Ocean Dwellers._ Bucky frowned and picked up the paper, scanning quickly through the article. There was no mention of the Avengers, but it seemed likely they would be called to help. Is that where Steve had gone? A second, smaller article on the third page caught his eye.  _Croatia Reports Shocking Series of Lightning Strikes._ Two paragraphs into the story, he was fairly sure they weren't talking about run-of-the-mill electrical storms. Maybe that was where Steve had gone. He flipped through a couple more pages before spotting a brief article about a police encounter with a thief who had thrown fireballs at the police, then vanished in a puff of smoke. Another possibility. Shaking his head, he scooped up the entire newspaper and brought it into his room to peruse in privacy.

By suppertime, he had narrowed it down to one of four locations, down from nearly a dozen possibilities hinted at by stories and headlines in the paper. He took a break to go refuel in the cafeteria, and then Justin convinced him to play cards with him, George and Jose instead. Jose was confined to a wheelchair and spoke very heavily-accented English, his language skills dramatically impacted by the same head injury that landed him in his chair. Spanish was easier for him, so Bucky had been brushing up his slightly-rusted language skills. George was an older man with grey at his temples who had a tendency to go on rambling rants about how his neighbors had been bugging his apartment and somehow conspired to have him committed to the hospital. Bucky did more listening than talking for most of the game. Sometimes you just had to smile and nod. After three hands, their game was interrupted by a game of Bingo coordinated by staff. The dayroom quickly became crowded, as the prizes were both decent and free. Bucky won a small music player with headphones. He decided that was good and returned to his room to go through the newspaper again to see if there was anything else he had missed.

* * *

He was typically one of the first people in line for the evening medications, but tonight he was so absorbed in his research that he didn't come out until Sarah had reminded him three times. Most of the others were already hanging out in the dayroom, waiting for the snack that wasn't served until everyone had gotten their evening medications. Samantha shoved a little plastic cup full of pills at him. He counted them silently, then tossed them back. He headed into the dayroom, which was surprisingly quiet considering how many people were in it. Most of them were staring at the television. As Bucky stepped through the door, most of the eyes shifted to him. Their expressions ranged from surprise, to awe, to fear. He frowned, confused by the sudden attention.

"…we now return you to the 60 Minutes Special Report, "Who is the Winter Soldier?" Bucky froze, his breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly towards the television. Dramatic music played. "Following the Battle at the Triskelion, the first files regarding the Winter Soldier were released with the rest of Hydra's files," the narrator continued. Images from the news coverage of the battle flashed across the screen. "But after the battle, the assassin vanished. Some thought he might have died in the flaming wreckage of Project Insight, but he was officially classified as Missing In Action. It wasn't until three years later that any trace surfaced again." Footage of the recent bombing in Vienna played from several different angles, then a still shot from the camera footage used to frame him. "The Winter Soldier was accused of a terrorist attack that resulted in casualties from several nations, including the King of Wakanda. The manhunt was on, and he was soon taken into custody. However, shortly after his capture, Helmut Zemo was arrested for the attack, which he had framed Bucky Barnes for. Bucky was returned to the US for evaluation and treatment. Some critics have protested that this is too light a punishment for a man who caused so much death and destruction. Some argue that he should not be held responsible for what he did under Hydra's influence." Bucky looked warily around the room. Some were staring at the television, some were staring at him, and some kept looking back and forth between the two. He felt naked, exposed, and felt panic rising in him. They knew, they all knew. He hadn't seen the rest of the program to see how much of the things he had done under Hydra's influence they had revealed, but some of the faces gaping at him looked horrified. He began to back out, intending to turn and retreat to his room. Perhaps he would remain there until the end of his time in this place.

"You have to understand, for seventy years, he was their prisoner." Bucky froze as Steve's voice came out of the television. "He was the longest-serving prisoner of war in our history. The things they made him do, weren't his choice. He didn't choose them, and he wouldn't have, because that's not the kind of man he was. Is." Bucky slowly moved to where he could see the screen again. Steve's expression was strained and serious. He glanced down briefly, then back up again. "He's the kind of man you want to have on your side, whether it's in a fight or just… navigating life in general." Black and white footage of Steve and Bucky together flickered across the screen, but Steve's voice continued. "He's smart, he's loyal, he's trustworthy. He was the best friend a scrawny kid growing up in Brooklyn could have hoped for." The image onscreen changed back to Steve, then panned back to reveal he was sitting in a chair across from Virginia Porter. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap.

"Would you say, Mr. Rogers, that he is capable of becoming a safe and contributing member of society?" she asked. Anger flashed briefly across Steve's face.

"If you knew him," he said tersely, "you wouldn't even have to ask that. Of course he is."

"And that is based on your personal assessment?" Virginia asked lightly. Steve's irritation didn't even seem to register. He snorted and shook his head.

"No, that's based on history. The two years that everyone left him alone, that's exactly what he was. And he still would be, if we hadn't found him and dragged him back into the public eye. Just like you're doing, Ms. Porter," he added for emphasis. Virginia seemed unfazed by the implied accusation.

Bucky had heard enough. All of the eyes on him prickled along his ribs and spine, and he suddenly had an urgent need to be somewhere else; anywhere but standing in front of all these people with his darkest secrets exposed. He couldn't leave fast enough. He almost ran down the hall and darted into his room, slamming the door behind him. Standing with his back against the door, he slowly slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Folding his arms over his knees, he buried his face in them. His forehead pressed against the metal of his left arm; the constant and ever-present reminder of what Hydra had made him become.


	19. Day 119

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the window. His identity had been exposed; every instinct in his being was screaming that he had to go to ground. It wasn't safe, he wasn't safe. It would be easy enough to smash through the window and disappear, but where would he go? His face had been splashed across every screen in the country, and possibly even further. The minute he escaped, they would be looking for him. He could still probably go into hiding, but it was riskier. Now they knew his face, they knew what he was. If he went through that window, he would be running for the rest of his life. He could never see Steve again. He could never let anyone close again. It had been an easy choice after he had first left Hydra. His head had been fuzzy and confused, and he had known only that he had to get away, that there was more to him than he had been led to believe. Now he remembered. Now, he had gotten used to the occasional companionship that living in close quarters with other people had provided. Even though logic and fear screamed at him that escaping and living a solitary existence was the only rational solution to this problem, he still hesitated. He sighed and ran his hands over his face. He had already had this argument with himself nearly a hundred times in the four days since the 60 Minutes special had aired, and he would probably have it a hundred times more.

A knock sounded at his door, but he didn't move. Usually the staff would knock before opening the door when they did rounds. A couple of the nurses had attempted to talk with him over the past couple days, but he wasn't ready to discuss it. Mostly, they had left him alone. This time, though, the door didn't open. The knock came again, louder this time.

"Bucky, are you in there?" Chloe's voice was faint through the solid door. "I know you're in there."

"No, I'm not," he called, speaking for the first time in four days. He heard her snort of derisive laughter.

"You can't stay in there forever," she protested.

"Want to put money on that?" Bucky growled in reply.

"I know you don't have food in there," she pointed out dryly. He didn't have a response for that, because she was right. He still didn't move from the edge of his bed. She sighed. "Bucky, please. I want to talk to you."

"So talk." He lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't want to yell it through a door," she replied in exasperation. He didn't reply and didn't move. There was silence on the other side of the door, and he thought maybe she had given up and left him alone. A heavy sigh told him she was still here. "Fine. You want to be stubborn, but I can be, too. I'll just wait." There was a soft thud against the door, then a muffled rustle that started mid-door and slid to the bottom. "Come out when you're ready." Her voice was closer to the bottom of the door now. Bucky sighed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore her.

"Chloe, you need to move," Tammy's voice drifted through the door. "You can't be sitting out here." Both relief and disappointment washed over him.

"I just want to talk to him," Chloe protested.

"I'll let him know. But you need to move. He's too old for you anyway."

"Not like that. I mean, actually talk to him."

"And I said I would let him know. Now, go. Either to your room or the dayroom. You can't stay here."

"Fine." Footsteps tracked away from his door, getting softer. Then came the soft, perfunctory knock, followed by Tammy's face peering around the door.

"You okay, Bucky?" she asked softly. He glanced over at her, then looked away. "You don't have to stay in here, you know. People have been asking where you are." He shot her a startled look. He hadn't thought anyone would want him around after learning the truth about him. She gave him an encouraging half-smile. "We're having a ping-pong tournament for the afternoon activity. It won't be a real championship without you there to defend your title."

"Maybe later," he said softly. She gave him a little nod, then left, closing the door behind her. Bucky rolled over on his side, facing the window as the debate began in his head all over again.

* * *

Twice more, the short staff knock came, followed by the door opening and silent eyes raking over him. Then the door closed again. Their rounds were more regular some days than others, but today they were every fifteen minutes like clockwork. So it caught him by surprise when his door opened again three minutes later. He rolled over to see Chloe closing the door furtively behind her. She circled around his bed and perched on the windowsill.

"What are you doing?" Bucky hissed. "You're not supposed to be in here." Chloe shrugged nonchalantly.

"What are they going to do, drop my level?" she replied. "I'm sure I'll miss that crowded, noisy cafeteria that triggers my agoraphobia. I told you, I need to talk to you." Bucky sat up and folded his arms over his chest. He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. She took a deep breath, then looked down at her hands, which suddenly clenched together in her lap.

"Better start talking," Bucky warned. "You've only got about ten minutes before they come around again and we both get in trouble."

"I know, I know. I've just… never talked about this shit before." She rubbed the tops of her thighs with nervous hands. "Growing up, my stepdad made it clear he thought I was a waste of space. It wasn't just the beatings, it was the names, the yelling, the ridicule any time I tried to open my mouth and offer an opinion. He would deny things I clearly remembered him saying or doing. It got worse after I hit puberty. I started to… to think that I could hear people's thoughts, sense the inner workings of their minds. But when I would hear him think something and respond to it, he would act like he didn't know what I was talking about. His thoughts would contradict what he said, but when I tried to argue, he made out like I was crazy. I started to believe it. I was fourteen the first time I tried to kill myself." Bucky sat still, leaning forward slightly and giving her his full attention. He didn't know why she was telling him this, but it was clear that it was important. She took a deep breath and continued. "I wanted so badly for it all to go away. I would hear random thoughts throughout the day, especially when I was around other people. I'd convince myself that it was all in my head, even though it seemed real. I stopped wanting to go anywhere or do anything. Life just seemed so heavy and surreal. The attempt before they sent me here was number eight." She looked up and met his eyes for the first time since she had begun her speech. "Then I met you. I'd never met anyone like you before. It seemed to me that you had another person trapped inside your head." Bucky sat up straighter, and she leaned forward. "But that's true, isn't it? The special mentioned that Hydra used torture and brainwashing to control you. Did they… put someone else in your head?" Bucky stared at her hard for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell her. He hadn't discussed it with anyone aside from his therapist.

"Deborah thinks it's more like they… broke off a piece of me that they could control. But yeah… he's still in there. It just takes the right goddamn words, and he takes over," he admitted. "At least, that's how it used to work." Her eyes widened, and she took a deep breath in, then exhaled shakily.

"So maybe, just maybe… I'm not crazy," she breathed. "Maybe I can actually hear people's thoughts. Maybe I've been able to all along."

"I've heard of stranger things," Bucky reasoned, thinking of Steve's stories of Wanda. Of course, with panic attacks, agoraphobia and eight previous suicide attempts, she probably could still some help, he thought to himself.

"Yeah, I know I've got some things to work on," she said brusquely, waving a hand at him. "But this changes everything, don't you see? I can learn to live with the other shit, as long as I know I can trust my mind." Bucky nodded slowly.

"I can see how that would be world-changing," he agreed. He wasn't sure he would ever have that, exactly. While it hadn't been a problem yet, he was well aware it could be a fatal flaw should someone ever trigger the Winter Soldier programming again. Plus, ever since Deborah had mentioned it, he had found a new fear – that someday, somehow, the Soldier could spontaneously take over.

"Hey," Chloe whispered, leaning forward, her wide hazel eyes finding his. "Want me to get that other guy out of your head?" His eyes widened and jaw dropped open. He hadn't dared to think that could even be possible. Before he could reply, a knock came at the door, and then it opened.

"Chloe, what are you doing in here?" Tammy asked in shock. "You can't be in here. Come on, now." She gestured for the woman to leave. Chloe nodded and left obediently. She paused in the doorway and looked back at Bucky.

"Let me know," she said, eyes shining at him.

"Out, Chloe," Tammy prompted again. Chloe smirked and left.

* * *

The interruptions subsided, leaving him alone with his thoughts, which were whirling with new information. That others were asking after him, even after finding out what he was and what he had done, was both shocking and somewhat gratifying. He had spent years of his life – decades, really – as a ghost, a shadow, something never seen and certainly never remembered. They had drilled into him, beaten into him, that he was there to do his job and then be forgotten. To know that others missed him and were thinking of him made him feel at once alarmed and touched. And then there was Chloe's offer. Her words kept echoing in his head. He didn't know if he believed it was even possible, or if it was, if she could do it. He wasn't sure what it would entail, if he trusted her enough to go poking around in his head, or if he wanted to burden her with his personal demons. There were so many unanswered questions, but the idea that he could be free of this sword hanging over his head shone like a star guiding him to the promised land.

A knock on the door startled him from his reverie, and he glanced over to see Hannah at his door, clipboard in hand.

"Trays are here, Bucky," she informed him. "Did you want yours?"

"Trays?" he repeated. "So you did drop my level." Hannah shook her head slightly.

"No, I just noticed that you haven't been going down to the cafeteria, and I didn't want you to starve," she clarified.

"Ah," Bucky replied softly. He sat up on the bed and turned to face her. "Did you see it?" She hesitated, but the nodded.

"Yes, I did," she confirmed. He looked down. "I have to say, it took me by surprise. Because the man I know from the past four months on the unit is not the man they talked about in that program."

"Except it was," Bucky argued. "I did all those things."

"But not by your choice," Hannah pointed out. "And that's not who you are now." She paused. "Did you want to come eat your tray?" Bucky sighed, and his stomach rumbled loudly.

"I guess so," he decided reluctantly. "I'll be out in a bit."

* * *

He entered the dayroom with little fanfare, hoping mostly to eat his food and slink back to his room with as little attention as possible. His tray was waiting on an empty table. Three other patients were in the room when he entered. Emily quickly cleared her tray and exited the room, never looking directly at him. Paul gave him a fearful look, made the sign of the cross and slipped out the other door. Nathan did a double take but remained in his seat. He focused on the television, but snuck another furtive glance towards Bucky as he sat down and began to eat. He was halfway through the double-sized entrée when Justin plopped down at the table across from him.

"Hey, Bucky," he said cheerfully. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "So, that show said you had more than two dozen confirmed kills that they knew of. How many did you actually have?" His grin faded slightly. "Wait. If you tell me, will you have to kill me, too?" Bucky gave him a look of consternation. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss at all, much less while eating overcooked meatloaf and wilted broccoli that nevertheless tasted amazing to his starving tastebuds.

"Justin, leave the man alone," Chloe scolded, coming into the dayroom. She sat down casually at the other table. "Let him eat in peace." Picking up a deck of cards from the table, she started to shuffle them. "Want to play King's Corner?"

"Sure, okay." Justin refocused his attention on her and the game, much to Bucky's relief. He finished his meal without any further interruptions. Justin kept up his usual rambling prattle. It was easy to tune out. Bucky smirked as Chloe won the game handily. He stood and returned his empty tray to the cart. He paused on his way out and looked over at Chloe, who felt his attention on her and looked over.

"Your offer," he said cryptically. "Were you serious?" Chloe nodded, her face solemn. "How?" He had other questions. Why did she want to? Had she ever done something like that before? How painful would it be? But this one was foremost in his mind. Chloe frowned contemplatively.

"I'm still working on that part. But carefully, that's for sure," she replied. Bucky took a breath in and exhaled his disappointment. This was not something he would count on, that was certain. He filed it away with other dreams he had once had for his future and labeled it unlikely. With a little nod, he turned and left the room.

* * *

The ping-pong tournament seemed just the ticket to get him back in the groove. He still noticed some alarmed glances, and people gave him a little more space, but Tim grinned when he saw him.

"Hey, Bucky," he said quietly as he sidled over to where Bucky was holding up the wall with his arms folded over his chest. "Good to see you again. I was beginning to wonder if you'd been discharged." Bucky shook his head.

"No. I still have two months left," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just needed to… regroup." Tim nodded.

"I can respect that," he murmured back. He nodded towards the table that the staff were setting up. "You decided to come out just in time to kick all of our asses again, I see." Bucky shrugged noncommittally.

"Hey, you never know. Maybe today's the day you beat me," he replied amicably. Tim chuckled.

"Maybe once. But nobody's going to beat you for two out of three."

He wasn't wrong.


	20. Day 121

The morning routine came back naturally, easy as riding a bike. Morning patrol, then breakfast, followed by exercise in his room and a shower before the morning meeting. The other patients on the unit were slowly getting over the shock of finding out about his past. There were a handful who still gave him a wider berth, but he found that he didn't mind the extra space. Groups weren't terribly different, although he found that the others seemed to listen when he spoke, and nobody was inclined to argue with him. After the morning meeting, he paused for a moment by the nursing station, where Hannah and Marguerite were chattering about food – specifically, what they had cooked the night before.

"But seriously, you put peanut butter in the stew?" Hannah said disbelievingly, wrinkling her nose slightly. "My brain is having a hard time imagining how that would taste."

"It is very good," Marguerite assured her, flashing her an amused grin. "My children love it."

"Well, I've never tried it, so I guess I can't judge," Hannah replied with a shrug and a smile. "You'll have to bring some in for me so I can see how delicious it is!"

"Okay, I will do that," Marguerite agreed. "What did you make?"

"Chicken breasts stuffed with apples and cheese, then wrapped in bacon," Hannah announced proudly. "My husband is a picky eater, but he said I should put them in the regular meal rotation." Bucky's stomach rumbled loudly, and both nurses glanced over at him. He grinned sheepishly.

"That sounds delicious," he observed. "My stomach says you should give me the recipe." Hannah laughed.

"I'll write it down for you," she promised. Bucky gave her a grin of appreciation and looked over to Marguerite.

"I wouldn't mind the recipe for your stew, either," he told her. Marguerite chuckled.

"I don't have a recipe for it," she informed him. "I learned it from my mother, who learned it from my grandmother." Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, a secret family recipe," he noted, his voice appropriately hushed. Marguerite nodded.

"Something like that," she agreed. Bucky looked up and noticed two men in security uniforms coming through the chart room. One of them he recognized – Davis had been on the unit frequently since Bucky had arrived. The other, he did not.

"Who's the new guy?" Bucky asked. Both nurses turned to look at the men approaching them.

"I haven't met this one yet," Hannah commented. "They've hired three more security guards with the… recent incidents on the unit." She swiveled in the chair and called back into the chart room. "Hey, Bryan, who's your shadow?"

"Mornin', Ladies," Davis replied, sauntering out into the nursing station. He was a slight man with sandy hair, bulked slightly by his uniform. The man following him was taller, broader and more imposing. He followed quietly behind Davis, his eyes scanning the unit. His nametag read "Heinrich." His gaze fell on Bucky and stopped there. Bucky straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the desk, feeling the intense scrutiny. He returned the man's stare, wondering why he was so interested in him. Perhaps he had also seen the television special. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he couldn't place it. "This is Greg," Davis continued, oblivious to the tension between his trainee and the patient standing at the desk. "Greg, this is Hannah and Marguerite." Greg tore his eyes from Bucky and favored the nurses with a pleasant smile.

"Pleased to meet you," he said in lightly accented English, his voice a baritone boom. They all shook hands, while Bucky still eyed the new guard warily from the other side of the desk. Davis turned towards Bucky with a broad grin.

"Hey, Bucky. Staying out of trouble today?" he asked teasingly. Bucky mustered an appropriately humorous expression despite his misgivings.

"You know me, Davis," he replied. "I try to stay out of trouble, but sometimes it finds me."

"Well, go easy on Greg here," Davis recommended. "He's still learning the ropes."

"Roger Wilco," Bucky responded, glancing at the clock. "I'll go grab my notebook for the nine o'clock group." Without waiting for a response, he left the desk and headed back to his room. He glanced back at the desk as he opened his door. Greg was staring at him again.

* * *

By the time the group was over, the security guards had moved on to another unit, and Bucky didn't see them again that day. He had resumed his meals in the cafeteria. Many of the friends he had made there were gone, presumably discharged. He tried not to stop and reflect on the fact that many people who had arrived after he did were already gone. Most of those who were left kept a respectful distance. There were a few perks to having the reputation of a deadly assassin. At supper, he found an empty table and sat down to eat. Tim set his tray down across from him a few minutes later. Bucky glanced up and nodded a greeting. Tim didn't say anything, being a man of few words. Marcus sat down next to him, and Lee on the other side. Marcus was an odd, angular man who generally kept to himself. When he did contribute to the conversation, it often either didn't make sense, or it was on a topic they had been discussing several minutes ago. Lee was affable and childlike, with wide eyes that sometimes stared a little too long. Their conversations were sometimes… interesting. But none of them pressed Bucky for dialogue when he wasn't in the mood, and they all seemed to be comfortable with silence.

Justin plopped down at the end of the table. He tended to talk enough to make up for the rest of them.

"At least their pizza usually doesn't suck, right?" he commented as he picked up the rectangular slice. Bucky chewed his contemplatively.

"I dunno. I think I could do better," he decided. They hadn't covered pizza specifically in his cooking class, but he was fairly confident he could figure it out.

"I could, for sure," Lee declared. "I used to work at a pizzeria, back in high school." He stared blankly for a moment. "Before I got sick."

"Yeah?" Justin said with interest. "These toppings are lame. What were your favorites?" Lee chewed thoughtfully for so long that Bucky started to think maybe he forgot the question.

"Bumblebee pizza," he said finally. Justin gave him a startled look.

"I've never heard of putting bumblebees on a pizza," he said. Lee giggled and shook his head.

"No, you don't use bumblebees. That's just what it's called. Pineapple, black olives and chicken." Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"Pineapple on pizza?" He had never heard of that before.

"I'm with you, Bucky," Tim interjected. "Pineapple has no place on pizza."

"Come on, you guys, pineapple on pizza is delicious," Justin protested.

"I've just never tried it," Bucky said with a shrug. "I tried pizza for the first time at my pal Giovanni's house. They just had sauce and cheese on it. Guess it caught on." He made a slight face at the overcooked square. "Theirs was better than this, though. I think. Memory is still a little fuzzy."

"When was that?" Justin asked in surprise. "I practically grew up on pizza." Bucky frowned slightly.

"Nineteen twenty-seven or eight, I think," he said contemplatively, then shrugged. "Just one more thing I missed living in a freezer in Russia." Usually, he didn't speak so openly about his experiences, but after the news special, he felt like there was no point in concealing what everyone probably knew. He was faintly surprised at all the people who still wanted to associate with him, knowing his past. Tim let out a bark of laughter.

"Yeah, I don't suppose Dominos delivers to Siberia," he observed. Bucky snorted and shook his head.

"In Soviet Russia, pizza delivers you," Justin intoned in a terrible Russian accent. Bucky raised an eyebrow. That didn't even make sense. He must have missed something, though, because both Tim and Lee laughed.

"I like pepperoni on my pizza," Marcus interjected. The others exchanged glances, shrugged and continued with their meal.

* * *

Bucky was in for another surprise that evening, when they knocked on his door to tell him he had a visitor. The announcement inspired a wave of relief that Steve was back, and that he was okay. This was quickly followed by a surge of irritation. He still had to discuss the interview with Steve. Deborah had helped coach him through putting his feelings into words, and phrasing it effectively but without venom. He grabbed his notes from his desk and headed towards the visitor's room.

His pace slowed as he approached and caught a glimpse of red hair. Definitely not Steve. Natasha was standing near the chairs but not seated, her arms folded over her chest as she gazed out the window. She looked over as the door opened and Bucky entered. Relief flickered across her face, then faded. He took in the rigid spine and squared shoulders and realized she wasn't about to attempt another kiss or even a hug.

"Natalia?" he asked softly. Her affect constricted, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes, chased closely by sadness.

"Bucky," she replied. "We should sit down." She did so, lowering herself into the chair and glancing out the window again before turning her attention back to him.

"What happened?" he asked. From the way she was acting, something was definitely wrong.

"Steve is in the hospital," she informed him. His stomach dropped.

"How bad is it?" he asked, suddenly finding it difficult to force the words past the lump in his throat.

"They expect that he'll pull through, but it's a little touch and go right now," she admitted. Bucky closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands for a moment, then moved them enough to look back up at her.

"What happened?" he repeated. "Did the mission go badly?" Natasha sighed.

"The mission went just fine," she said shortly. "Until the very end, when Tony turned on him." Bucky tensed, sitting up straighter. Steve had mentioned tension between them, tension that had never resolved completely even after Steve agreed to sign the Accords.

"Tony went rogue?" he asked. Natasha sighed, folding her arms in her lap.

"There was a news special on, about a week ago…" she began. Bucky's jaw clenched.

"I saw part of it," he acknowledged. Natasha's mouth twisted into a mirthless grin.

"Did you see the part where they talked about a possible connection between the Winter Soldier and the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark?" Her tone was casual, as if discussing the weather, belying the deadly implications. Bucky suddenly felt cold.

"No, I missed that," he croaked, his mouth dry.

"Unfortunately, Tony did not miss it," she said grimly. "He spent the first part of our mission obsessed with decoding all the Hydra files we had on hand. Mission accomplished, but he was distracted. Then, on the way home in the Quinjet, he confronted Steve about it, demanding to know how much he knew. We tried to calm him down, but the next thing we knew, he was back in his armor, and both he and Steve were flying out the side of the plane." Bucky frowned.

"Steve can fly now?" he asked disbelievingly. Natasha sighed.

"Tony was flying," she corrected herself. "Steve was falling. We still don't know exactly what happened, but we found him about twenty miles from where his initial trajectory should have been." Bucky refrained from blurting out what was going through his head. If they still didn't know what had happened, that meant Steve wasn't awake to tell them. And Tony… "We still haven't been able to find Tony," Natasha finished. "That's why I'm here. To warn you. There's a possibility he might show up here. If he does, don't assume that he's friendly." Bucky nodded slowly.

"Noted," he said. "Thanks for the warning." He stared down at his hands folded together. "Is Steve… safe?"

"He's getting state of the art medical care," Natasha confirmed. "We're all taking shifts sitting up with him, to make sure Tony doesn't come back to finish what he started." She glanced at her watch. "Sam and Thor are with him now. My shift starts at 10."

"And they think he'll be okay?" Bucky asked anxiously. Natasha nodded.

"Eventually," she hedged. He could tell from her expression that the damage was both extensive and worrisome. Bucky ran a hand through his hair. His confinement seemed ever more stifling. He should be at the hospital at Steve's side, especially since he was at least partially to blame for the fight. Instead, he was here and unable to leave. He got up and paced across the tiny room. Two strides carried him to the opposite wall, and he spun around and walked back the other way. Natasha watched him silently.

"Would you do me a favor?" he asked roughly, his voice tight. Natasha nodded.

"Anything," she promised.

"Can you bring him a letter for me?"

It took him a while to write it, referencing his notes frequently and erasing sentences or whole paragraphs often. Natasha sat quietly by, never appearing impatient or rushed. She kept her head on a swivel, scanning through the room's too-plentiful windows for movement or a familiar face. Trusting her to be vigilant for him, he concentrated on getting the words just right. Finally, he decided it was as good as it was going to get. It was honest and raw, but it was everything he wanted to make sure to say. Folding it carefully, he handed it to Natasha. She nodded at him and slipped it into her pocket.

"I'll make sure he gets it," she assured him. She glanced through the window facing the hallway. "Do they allow hugs here?" Bucky shrugged.

"Technically… I don't care." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She clung to him just as tightly, and it occurred to him that she possibly needed it as much as he did. Unshed tears burned in his throat, but he swallowed them down. No warning knock came on the window this time. After several long minutes, Natasha stepped back.

"Take care of yourself, James," she said softly. "Stay safe. I've had enough grief for this week."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself," he assured her. "I'll keep my eyes open."


	21. Day 124

Bucky found himself more on edge the next few days. He was even more vigilant not to sit by windows, and always chose his seat carefully, keeping in mind escape routes. Any movements drew his attention and sent his heart pounding. He found himself scanning the grounds outside at every opportunity, half-anticipating that Tony Stark would be swooping down from the sky in his powered armor, weapons trained on him. He stayed inside the building even for Gold time, though the summer was rapidly approaching autumn and he had been enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin when he ventured into the courtyard. Even at breakfast, he found the one spot in the room not visible from the bank of windows and hid there to eat.

"You never really gave me an answer," Chloe reminded him that morning, setting her tray down on the much-more-exposed other side of the table. He frowned at her slightly, not recalling what she was referring to. She rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder at Jeff, who was in the kitchen behind the breakfast cart. "About getting that other guy out of your head," she continued, lowering her voice to a whisper. Bucky shook his head slightly at her.

"I appreciate the offer," he said honestly, "but it's too dangerous." She frowned at him.

"For me, or for you?" she asked.

"Yes," he responded simply. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You don't think I can do it," she accused him. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"A week ago, you still thought you were just hallucinating," he reminded her. "Maybe wait, learn a little more about how it works before you go messing with people's heads."

"I've already been practicing!" she protested. Bucky gave her an incredulous look.

"Practicing how?" he asked warily. She shrugged noncommittally as she poured milk over her cereal.

"Nothing crazy, just trying to help ease symptoms, here and there. You know Melanie?" she asked. Bucky nodded. "She's letting me experiment with her voices. I've been able to make them get softer for awhile, and I even got them to disappear completely for half an hour the other day. And then my roommate, Angela, started to have a panic attack last night, and I got that to go away." She smiled and took a bite of her toast. "I kind of have a knack for it, I think." She did look very proud of herself.

"I'm glad you're finding ways to practice," Bucky said. "My answer is still no."

"Seriously?" Chloe responded in surprise. "I can feel him, just lurking there. I know you want him gone. I can do it. It would just be like tearing off a hangnail."

"Except it's my brain, not my finger," Bucky reminded her. "No. It's not an emergency. I've been sharing my head with him for longer than you've been alive. I can manage."

"But you've only been the one in control for the past few years," she pointed out. He felt his patience run out abruptly and flare into anger.

"I am well aware of that. There were… outside influences at work before then," he snapped. She flinched, her happiness and pride popping like a balloon.

"Okay, okay, fine," she capitulated. "I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again." Looking like she might cry, she gripped her tray and stood up.

"You don't have to leave," Bucky protested. Chloe ignored him and moved to one of the chairs, sitting with her back to him and putting her tray on her lap. He sighed and decided to give her space. He heard a sniffle from her every now and then but resisted the urge to try and go comfort her. The last thing she needed was to become a target because Bucky was sitting next to her when Tony decided to launch an attack. He finished his breakfast and put the tray away. Chloe was still sitting in the chair with her tray in her lap, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the television. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he began, standing a safe distance away but close enough that he didn't need to raise his voice. "It's not that I don't believe in your powers. I'm just not comfortable with anyone poking around in my head. Especially with so little experience." She sniffed, then nodded, but didn't look at him. Glancing nervously out of the windows, he went back to his room.

* * *

The afternoon group was a video on assertiveness and conflict resolution. It was something of a relief to be sitting in the dark, where eyes could not find him. Emerging from the dark room afterwards was like coming out of a cave, and the moment that his eyes took to adjust to the brighter light outside was disorienting. As they passed the nursing station, he noticed Jose in his wheelchair, sitting near the nursing station. He looked upset. Natalie was standing in the half-open doorway of the linen closet, and it looked like she was arguing with Jose about something. His face darkened, and he wheeled his wheelchair forcefully in her direction. With a yelp, she slipped into the linen closet and let the door close behind her with a bang. Jose reached the door a moment later and used the handle to pull himself shakily to unstable feet. He was a much taller man than was usually apparent in the wheelchair, his upper body well-muscled from pushing himself from place to place. Hanging onto the door frame with one hand, he pounded on the heavy wooden door with the other. From behind the desk, Marguerite was yelling at him to sit down and back off. Bucky quickened his pace.

"Jose,  _calmate. ¿Que pasa?"_ he asked as soon as he was within earshot. The Hispanic man half-turned towards him in a lurching motion, and for a moment Bucky was afraid he might fall over.

" _She disrespected me,"_ Jose declared in Spanish, gesturing angrily towards the door and punching the wood again.

" _Natalie did? I'm sure she didn't mean to. Maybe it was a misunderstanding,"_ Bucky reasoned, keeping his tone even and calm.

" _No, she meant it. I just wanted a blanket!"_ Jose punctuated his sentences with a smash of his fist against the wood.

" _Well, I don't think this is going to help you get a blanket,"_ Bucky pointed out.  _"The blankets are in there. As long as you're pounding on the door, they're not going to open it to give you one."_ For the first time, Jose hesitated, his fist relaxing into an open hand. Bucky nodded encouragingly.  _"Now, let her out, and I promise I will help you get your blanket."_ Jose looked at him dubiously, wobbling slightly on his feet. Bucky grabbed the back of the wheelchair and held it steady. " _Siéntate, por favor."_ Jose lowered himself awkwardly back in the chair, sitting down heavily. He lifted one hand and pointed a finger at Bucky.

"You promise?" he said in heavily accented, semi-garbled English. Bucky nodded. Jose sighed and pushed himself back from the door. Bucky pulled him back another step or two.

"You can come out now," Bucky called. "The door is clear." There was a pause, and then the door opened, and Natalie looked out nervously. She eyed Bucky, who still had a firm grip on Jose's chair, and slowly stepped all the way out of the tiny linen room. Her eyes flickered from Jose to Bucky and back again. Bucky glanced over his shoulder and noticed there were more staff than usual, including security guards. He hadn't even heard the code being called overhead. He looked back at Natalie. "Can he have a blanket?" he asked apologetically. Natalie held a blanket up.

"He can. I was trying to tell him he needs to keep it in his room. He can't have it in the dayroom. But I think maybe it would be a good idea for him to take some time in his room to settle down," she said. Bucky nodded and translated for Jose, who shrugged and nodded.

" _I just wanted to take a nap anyway,"_ Jose grumbled. Natalie handed over the blanket, and the man put it in his lap, then wheeled his chair towards his room. Bucky let out a long breath as the tension in the air diffused. Slowly, the crowd dispersed. Natalie sidled closer to Bucky, still looking shaken.

"I didn't know you could speak Spanish," she noted in surprise. "I thought you just spoke English and Russian." Bucky shrugged.

"I speak a few languages," he confirmed. Her eyebrows rose, and she looked vaguely impressed.

"Which ones?" she asked. Bucky took a step back and leaned on the nursing station, his eyes flickering upwards at the ceiling as he tried to remember all of them.

"Russian, German, Romanian, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, French, Dutch, Czech, Vietnamese, Japanese, Indonesian, Korean, Mandarin, Amharic, Arabic, Urdu, and Farsi," he listed, ticking them off on his fingers, then shrugged. "More fluent in some, but it's been a long time since I used a lot of it." If she had looked impressed before, she looked completely flabbergasted now.

"I… haven't even heard of some of those," she admitted, eyes widening in awe. "You're like a walking Babel fish." Bucky frowned, tilting his head slightly to the side. Nineteen languages, and he still didn't recognize the term she used.

"A what, now?" he queried. She chuckled.

"Never mind. It does seem like a very useful skill to have," she noted. Bucky shrugged.

"It comes in handy sometimes," he conceded.

"Like just now," she replied pointedly. "Thank you. I think that could have had a very different outcome if you hadn't stepped in."

"Glad to be of service, ma'am," Bucky drawled, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. She laughed, shaking her head as she went back behind the nurses station. He headed into the dayroom and found Chloe sitting in one of the chairs with her knees pulled into her chest, staring at the television. He sat down a couple chairs away. He thought he saw her glance in his direction, but she didn't say anything.

"Still not speaking to me?" he asked, keeping his tone light. Chloe sighed.

"No. I'm not going to be like that." She let her head lean back on the seat and slowly turned it towards Bucky. "It's possible I may have overreacted slightly." Bucky raised an eyebrow at her but didn't comment further. She frowned slightly, looking down at the carpet. "I guess I have this idea in my head of who I'm going to be, what I'm going to do now that I realize I have powers and not an illness. Or powers in addition to my mental illness, at least. And I really wanted to try to help you, since it was you that helped me realize that. So you turning me down felt like a major setback. But I think my head might have exaggerated that, just a little bit."

"Maybe a little," Bucky agreed. He shifted in his chair. "You know, most people have to practice a lot when they learn a new skill before they master it. I know you're excited about what you can do, but you have plenty of time to figure it out." Chloe nodded slowly.

"You're right," she acknowledged. She fell silent for a long moment, staring thoughtfully off into space. "Do you think there's anyone out there like me? That could maybe teach me?" Bucky thought about all the wild things that he'd seen, that Steve had told him about.

"It's definitely possible," he assured her.

* * *

"Bucky, you have a visitor." Bucky looked up in surprise from his desk, where he was writing in his journal.

"Who is it?" he asked warily. Katie's expression was slightly dazzled.

"I think it's Tony Stark," she informed him, wide-eyed. "I recognized him from the TV." She shook her head. "You have all kinds of famous friends, don't you?" Bucky set his pen down.

"Something like that." He stood up, debating what the best course of action would be. If he refused to see Tony, would the man just leave? Or would he hunt him down in his room, or attack from outside the window? He almost preferred the confrontation to the uncertainty. Not to mention, he still had to answer for what he did to Steve. "He's in the visiting room?" She nodded. "Okay. I'll be there in a minute." She nodded again and left. He paused with his hand on the door handle, weighing his options. Then he stepped resolutely out of his room. He made one stop on his way to the visiting room, pausing by the phone and dialing a number.

"Hello?" a feminine voice answered.

"He's here, in the visiting room," Bucky replied. There was no time for introductions or niceties. "I'll try to stall him as long as I can. I don't know how long that will be." He hung up the phone, ignoring the faint "Bucky, wait!" that sounded from the receiver. The hallway leading to the visiting room seemed to stretch out ahead of him, but he was at the door before he knew it. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside, unarmed and vulnerable.

A man with dark hair, mustache and goatee turned to face him, eyes blazing. It wasn't hard to see Howard in his ruggedly handsome features, but the bruises and swelling disguised it somewhat. His fight with Steve hadn't been completely one-sided. He stepped towards Bucky, who noted a slight limp, and the way he held his right arm against his body suggested either fractures or dislocations. A wave of stale whiskey rose from him and slammed Bucky in the face, causing him to reconsider whether he had a leg injury or was simply drunk.

"Do you know who I am?" Tony demanded.

"You're Tony Stark," Bucky answered warily. "The one who put Steve in the hospital." First confusion, then relief rippled across Tony's face, which quickly darkened in rage once more.

"Good, then I don't need to do the Inigo Montoya bit," he half-mumbled, raising one hand towards Bucky. Bucky shifted his stance slightly, positioning his left shoulder closest to his would-be assailant. He wasn't about to lay any wagers on how well his arm might hold up against a Stark weapon, but it was the best chance he had.

"How did you get in here?" Bucky asked. "I was told my visitors had to be approved by committee." Tony's hand wavered and dropped a little. He smirked at Bucky.

"Who do you think is on the committee? I had my name put on the list right away, just in case." He frowned and raised his hand again. "Don't change the subject. This isn't about me, it's about you. You  _murdered_  my mom. And my father." Bucky bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the staff peek through the window into the visiting room. It wasn't immediately obvious that Tony was threatening him, as he appeared to be unarmed. Now there would be fifteen minutes before anyone came to check on him again. He hoped they wouldn't be coming to find his corpse. "Do you deny it?" Tony challenged. Bucky shook his head.

"No," he said softly. "I am directly responsible for the deaths of many mothers and fathers, many sons and daughters." He had thought it many times in the dark recesses of his mind, but this was the first time he had said it out loud. It hung heavy in the air over their heads. Tony blinked at him, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with that confession. Then he shrugged.

"So we're in agreement, then," he said amicably, as if they had been discussing a place to grab lunch. "You deserve this." He raised his left hand again, palm towards Bucky, and a sleeve of armor suddenly formed over his arm. At the center of the metal gauntlet covering his hand, a bright circle began to grow in intensity, glowing too brilliantly to look at directly, accompanied by a high-pitched whine. Bucky braced himself, preparing to duck or throw a chair. It would ultimately be futile, but he was just playing for time. He glanced out the window behind Tony quickly, but saw no movement to give him hope. The high-pitched buzz shifted in key, and Tony lowered his hand abruptly. Bucky's foot exploded in white-hot agony, and he dropped down to his knees. Tony leveled his glowing weapon at Bucky's forehead. "I want to hear you beg. Like you made them beg." There was something not-quite-sane lurking behind Tony's eyes. Bucky had no intention of begging. At the very least, he would die with dignity.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Tony?" he asked through teeth clenched against the pain. "They won't let you just walk out of here after this. You have too many witnesses."

"Maybe I won't be walking out," Tony hedged, his hand still hovering inches away from Bucky's head. "But what's that to you? Just another dead Stark."

"You don't need to do that," Bucky protested. "Nobody needs to die here today."

"That wasn't quite the tone I was hoping for with the begging," Tony noted. "You didn't even say please."

"I'm not going to beg," Bucky said flatly. "You came to be judge, jury and executioner. If you're going to kill me, kill me."

""Well, actually, you've already confessed. So I'm just executioner. Any last words?" Tony taunted. Bucky swallowed hard. He looked up at the man who had murder in his eyes.

"Yes. I just want you to know how much respect I had for your father." Tony made a disbelieving snort and rolled his eyes. "He was an idol of mine when I was young, and later a friend and a comrade in arms." Another derisive noise, but at least Tony hadn't shot him yet. Bucky took a deep breath, licked his lips with a tongue dry as a desert, and continued. "When the Winter Soldier went after your parents, I was just along for the ride. The passenger, not the driver. Sometimes, I was aware enough to know what was going on, but powerless to do anything about it. When I saw what the mission was, who the target was…" He shook his head. "I would have given anything to stop it." His voice shook. "But no matter how much I wanted to save them, all I could do was watch." Tony was staring down at him, his face an unreadable mixture of emotion. Bucky looked up at him, trying to gauge what impact, if any, his words were having. Tony's mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I don't care. You killed my mom." The now-familiar shift in pitch filled the room. Bucky drove his left arm upwards, catching Tony's armored arm and pushing it upwards, away from his head. The wall behind him exploded outward, the edges of the hole smoking slightly. Tony growled and strained against him, the armor covering his arm suddenly extending over his chest and back, down the other arm and creeping towards his waist. He brought his other arm up and aimed for Bucky's midsection. Bucky twisted away, grabbing for Tony's other wrist and trying to keep the repulsor pointed away from him. His muscles screamed with the effort. Tony might not be stronger than him, but the suit certainly was. He could not hold Tony off forever.

The glass in the visiting room windows behind Tony suddenly shattered. Tony half-turned, startled, and Bucky took advantage of his distraction to launch himself at his would-be killer. He hit him full-force, taking him down to the floor, and pinned Tony's arms to the carpet, weapon-side down. He looked up to see a huge green giant peering through the shattered window. A moment later, Natasha and a winged man he recognized from the fight in Berlin both sailed through the now-open windowpane. More hands joined his in holding Tony down, and Bucky scrambled backwards just as the visiting room door opened and three security guards burst in.

* * *

As the adrenaline ebbed away, his foot was throbbing in earnest. Bucky sat in the chair in the wrecked visiting room, blood soaking through the bandage around his foot. On the opposite side of the room, Tony sat with his hands cuffed behind his back and eyes focused on the floor, a grim-faced Natasha and Falcon standing guard to make sure he didn't get away from them again. Hulk was still waiting outside, large green fists gripping the windowsill and blocking that avenue of escape. Aside from the Avengers and the security still present, the building supervisor, Hannah and a tall, dark man with one eye hidden behind a patch filled the room. It was considerably more crowded than Bucky was comfortable with. The man with the eye patch seemed very familiar. Bucky suddenly recognized him with a lurch of his stomach. He had been a past target, on what Bucky had been told was a successful mission. He shook hands with the building supervisor.

"Name's Nick Fury," he introduced himself. "I just want to thank you for your assistance tonight." The sweep of his arm included Bucky. "In particular, I want to commend Mr. Barnes for his quick thinking and courage that assisted us in apprehending a dangerous criminal." He gestured over at Tony. The sudden reversal made Bucky a little dizzy. "Mr. Barnes, when you get out of this place… here's my card." Bucky reached out and took it hesitantly.

"Thanks," he said shakily. "Ah, my apologies for D.C." One corner of Nick Fury's mouth twitched upwards slightly.

"Let's not get mired down in the past," he suggested.


	22. Day 136

One positive side to being shot with energy-based weapons was that they reduced the chance of infection. Bucky couldn't really think of any other upsides. He was still limping slightly on his left foot, where he was now short two toes and a portion of the outer foot. The wounds had closed, leaving new pink skin, but it was still very tender and sore. Bucky was grateful for his enhanced healing abilities. The visiting room was off-limits, as the windows still needed to be replaced. The scorch marks and bloodstains on the carpet remained, though the hole in the wall had already been patched. He had spent a couple sessions with Deborah processing the entire fiasco, but still felt unsettled about it. He kept replaying the day in his head, second-guessing what he did and said. Little noises and things out of the usual routine kept throwing him back into high alert, and he was definitely more on edge overall. Dr. Greenmyer had offered to order him something for anxiety that he could take when he needed it, but he didn't feel comfortable taking something to take the edge off. He might need that edge, should another situation arise.

He was patrolling the halls before lunch. A flurry of now-familiar activity caught his eye. The cart and bags gathered behind the desk implied a discharge, but they hadn't done a farewell ceremony in morning meeting that morning. Of course, only about half the unit had been in attendance, so that could explain it. Dominic paced up to the desk, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed.

"Can I get my Ativan before I go?" he asked Samantha, who nodded at him and disappeared into the med room.

"Go?" Bucky repeated. "Are you leaving?" Dominic glanced over at him, and the first smile Bucky had seen on his face stretched across his lips.

"Yeah," he said shyly. "They found a place for me. It's a group home, but I get my own room. My case manager says if I do well there, she'll help me get into a Section 8 apartment." He looked both thrilled and nervous at the prospect. "If I make it, it'll be my first time living on my own."

"Well, good luck," Bucky said, proffering his right hand to Dominic. Shaking hands was the one form of contact not likely to get him scolded by the staff. Dominic stuck out his left hand in response, so Bucky quickly shifted and switched hands. "It was good to get to know you," Bucky said honestly.

"Same to you," Dominic replied. "Don't worry about what people say. You're a good guy." Bucky chuckled softly.

"Thanks," he said. The med room door opened, and Samantha put a little white souffle cup on the counter with a small, round, white pill inside. Dominic tossed it back, chasing it with a sip of water. He paced around the curve of the nurses' station, peering through the windows on the unit double doors, then walking back. A middle-aged woman appeared at the door, and the unit secretary buzzed her through. Dominic swallowed and shot Bucky a quick, nervous grin.

"There she is," he said. "So here I go." Bucky nodded at him encouragingly.

"You got this," Bucky told him. Dominic pointed a finger at him, nodded slowly, then walked away. Bucky drifted back towards his room, feeling conflicted. He was happy for Dominic, of course, but every friend that left was another reminder that he was stuck here. Even Dominic could leave before he did. He flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Travis. Megan. Rob. Alec. Paul. Anna. Celie. Jacob. Brandon. Ashley. Meredith. Kara. Francis. Colin. Dominic. So many who had come and gone, leaving him behind. Some he had bonded with. Some he merely noticed the difference when they were gone. Some he was glad to see leave. But the fact remained that they had moved on, and he was still there.

* * *

The predictable knock came at the door, and Sarah poked her head in.

"Time to line up for the cafeteria," she informed him. He didn't respond right away. He contemplated just staying in his room, but his stomach reminded him that he had good reasons to go, also. With a sigh, he got up and joined the group waiting by the doors. He hung back, waiting to take up the tail end of the line. He considered sitting down at his usual table, but he wasn't in the mood for Justin's rambling, tangential conversation. Or any conversation, really. Instead, he found a nearly-empty table in the corner and settled there with his tray.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" He looked up to see Chloe standing uncertainly with her tray. She looked distressed, and Bucky recalled what she said about the cafeteria triggering her agoraphobia. He was torn.

"I'm not in a chatty mood," he warned her.

"Can I sit if I promise not to talk?" she asked. He gestured to the seat she was standing by. She lowered herself onto it with relief. She took a breath in and opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, then caught herself and remained silent. The two of them ate in companionable silence. Bucky glanced over at her and wondered how long it would be before she left, too. His gaze traveled over the noisy dining hall. A uniformed figure was standing at the other side of the room, and Bucky frowned slightly. He didn't recall security hanging out in the cafeteria at lunchtime for no reason, but there was now a guard stationed here. Heinrich looked over at Bucky, his face impassive, then turned and walked slowly across the room, his gaze traveling over the crowd. He turned and walked back the other way. Bucky's eyes followed him speculatively.

* * *

His room became his refuge again upon return from the cafeteria. He ventured out occasionally, for groups or meals, but didn't interact much. The evening activity was yoga, and Bucky welcomed the opportunity to stretch and relax in relative darkness with quiet, wordless music. No answers or conversation was expected or required. He stayed a few minutes after the class to help the instructor gather and roll up the yoga mats, which were loaded on a supply cart. Bucky was leaving the group room and ready to retreat back to his own space when the unit double doors opened and a familiar face walked on the unit, escorted by Ted. Bucky's face brightened.

"Steve!" he called out. The blond man turned at his name, and a smile spread across his face. Bucky closed the distance between them in three strides, and wrapped Steve in a relieved hug. Steve made a startled noise at the unexpected display of affection, but then returned the embrace, his arms reassuringly strong. After a moment, Bucky became aware of eyes on them and took a step back.

"You look pretty good for someone who was nearly dead two weeks ago," he observed, his light tone concealing how worried and scared he had been. Steve shook his head.

"I'm sure that was an exaggeration," he muttered.

"You guys want a room?" Ted offered, holding open the door to one of the other visiting rooms. This one was smaller, with windows that looked out into a never-used screened-in porch rather than the outside. Bucky let Steve go in before him, scanning his movements for any remaining sign of injury but finding none. They settled into the chairs.

"So, you're all healed up?" Bucky asked. Steve nodded.

"Took me a little longer this time," he admitted. His eyebrows pinched as he looked Bucky over. "What about you? They told me he came for you, too." Bucky sighed and grimaced slightly, wiggling his three remaining toes in his sock.

"Yeah, pretty much healed. What's happening with Tony?" he asked. Steve sighed and looked down at his hands clasped in his lap.

"He's on house arrest until his arraignment next week. Somehow, Fury managed to get him locked out of his lab, so he hasn't been allowed to work on anything. He tried to talk them into putting an ankle monitor on him, but nobody was about to fall for that. It would probably take him about fifteen minutes to figure out how to bypass that. So he has a security detail instead." There was no anger or resentment in Steve's voice, only sadness. He shook his head. "I never thought it would come to this. Tony and I were friends."

"I'm sorry," Bucky said softly. He did feel responsible. If he hadn't killed Howard and Maria Stark, their son would never have had a reason to go on a murderous rampage. Steve shifted from regretful to startled.

"It wasn't your fault, Bucky," he said firmly.

"Isn't it?" Bucky returned flatly. "I'm sure he won't be the only person looking for vengeance against the Winter Soldier." Steve gave Bucky a hard look.

"Maybe, but you're not him. You didn't choose to kill them," he pointed out. Bucky smiled faintly.

"Do you think someone set on revenge is going to see the difference? Or care?" he asked. Steve looked like he wanted to argue but didn't say anything immediately. Bucky glanced out the windows, automatically surveilling his surroundings. "I'm glad Tony's got someone watching him, though. I'm pretty sure he intended to kill himself after he killed me." Steve's jaw dropped, and his look of shock confirmed for Bucky that Tony wasn't one to discuss such things.

"Well, that would explain why both Fury and his lawyer want him to get a psych eval," Steve ruminated. He looked keenly at Bucky. "You're very forgiving, considering he just tried to kill you." Bucky shrugged and looked down at the floor.

"If I were in his shoes, I'd probably want to kill me, too," he admitted. He shifted his gaze back up to Steve, one eyebrow raised sardonically. "I am still pissed at him for involving you, though. You had nothing to do with it."

"He figured I knew about it but didn't tell him," Steve said with a sigh.

"Did you?" Bucky asked bluntly. Steve hesitated.

"I knew HYDRA was involved," he admitted. "I didn't know for sure that it was you. But he didn't believe me after I told him no, so I just told him I did."

"And that's when he tried to kill you," Bucky guessed. Steve spread his hands in acknowledgement, and Bucky rolled his eyes. "Of all the boneheaded…"

"Hey, I don't really want to spend the entire hour discussing Tony," Steve interrupted him. "Anything else going on with you?" Bucky shook his head.

"You've already gotten the highlights," he said dryly. "It's a thousand square feet of locked unit. Mostly it's the same shit, different day." A thought occurred to him, and he frowned slightly. "Actually, I do have someone I want you to check for me."

"Who's that?" Steve responded, looking intrigued.

"There's a new guard. Goes by Greg, nametag says Heinrich. He always seems like he's watching me. I don't trust him." Steve nodded at Bucky's explanation.

"I'll have Natasha check into him," he assured his friend. Bucky nodded, relieved. If there was anyone who could uncover the truth, it was her. "Say, are you allowed to get haircuts here?" Steve asked suddenly.

"There's a beauty shop down in the mall," Bucky confirmed. "Why?" Steve raised his eyebrows at him.

"Because maybe you should visit it," he suggested. "I think Wanda still has longer hair than you, but I'm not sure." Bucky reached back and patted his hair. It had been long enough to pull back in a low ponytail for a couple months now, and after that he stopped paying attention. It was just easier to keep it pulled back and out of his way.

"You don't like the long hair?" he asked his friend teasingly. "I think it's cool." Steve shrugged.

"It's just not how you used to wear it when you had a choice," he pointed out. "It wasn't your style then. Maybe it is now, I don't know." Bucky mulled the suggestion over for a bit.

"I'm not really sure what my style is, now," he admitted. "I'm sure it could use some updating. I'll think about it."


	23. Day 148

Nearly a month after Tony's attack on Bucky had destroyed the visiting room, they finally began work on it. He heard the staff talk about it becoming a "sensory room," whatever that was. The construction noise was loud and disruptive during the day, sometimes making it difficult to concentrate. It made Bucky appreciate the early mornings even more, before the day shift and the construction workers arrived, when most were still asleep, and the unit was still quiet.

He wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and contemplated his reflection. When he had first arrived, his hair brushed the tops of his shoulders, with some sections closer to chin length. He had been in the habit of trimming it himself when it got unmanageable; typically shearing the extra length off with a combat knife. He didn't have access to his knives here. His hair now hung halfway down his back, brushing against the bottom edge of his shoulderblades when he didn't have it tied back. Even the shortest sections were shoulder length now. He pushed it back with his hands experimentally. The last time someone else had cut it for him was in the army. He had gotten used to wearing it long, and didn't think he wanted to go military length again. He'd put his name on the list to have his hair cut today, but he had no idea what style he wanted or what was fashionable right now. He hoped whoever was working in the beauty shop could give him some advice.

* * *

The group went down to the mall mid-morning. Bucky spent the time waiting for his turn depositing his monthly check, getting a little spending money out of his account, and browsing the books in the library. He had just finished a book on the Gulf War, so he returned that. He hadn't decided which book he wanted to check out next when they called his name. The petite black woman in the beauty shop finished sweeping up the hair from the previous customer, then turned to face Bucky, who was still lingering hesitantly in the doorway.

"What can I do for you today?" she asked politely. Her name tag identified her as Monica.

"Ah, I'm not sure," he admitted. "I need a haircut."

"I can help with that," she said agreeably. "Have a seat." Bucky hesitated, then told himself he was being silly and made himself sit. Monica draped a cloth over him and pulled his hair out. She ran her fingers through it and made an impressed noise. "This is some nice, thick, hair. And there's a lot of it. How much are we getting rid of today? How short do you want it?"

"That's the part I'm not sure about," he confessed. "I'm not exactly up on modern styles."

"With your face, I think you could pull off any length," she decided, looking at his reflection critically in the mirror. "But your hair is really nice and thick, so we probably don't want to go too short."

"I kind of like being able to pull it back," he offered. Laura had always encouraged him to tie his hair back when he was working with food. He might not be doing much cooking right now, but he planned to get back to it at some point.

"Okay," Monica slid her fingers down his hair a bit, ending just below his jawline. "How about here? I can add in some layers to make it nice and full, give it more body and volume." Bucky wasn't sure what any of those terms meant, at least as far as it applied to his hair. He gave Monica a hesitant smile.

"How about I just say I trust you?" he offered. She grinned at him.

"Now, that I can definitely work with," she said. Spinning him around so his back was to the mirror, she went to work. Bucky noticed the other patients from his unit starting to line up at the exit. Tammy leaned into the doorway.

"We're heading back to the unit now," she informed him. "Can you call when you're done, and I'll come back to get you?"

"Sure," Bucky agreed. He glanced down at the long strands of hair littering the floor under his chair. He could hardly get up and leave now, ten minutes into a haircut. He felt he was perfectly capable of returning to the unit on his own, but rules were rules. The familiar faces from his unit filtered out, and a few minutes later new faces arrived. He caught a glimpse of a security uniform and tensed slightly. The guard turned around and caught sight of Bucky in the barber's chair. Heinrich leaned casually against the door frame. Bucky watched him warily.

"Getting your hair cut?" Heinrich inquired. Bucky somehow suppressed an eyeroll.

"Well, I'm not having my shoes shined," he replied dryly. Monica let out a surprised chuckle. Heinrich gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"This is true," he agreed. Bucky finally placed the accent as Lower Silesian. "You're not going to cause any trouble now, are you?" Bucky raised his eyebrows at him.

"She's the one with the scissors," he pointed out, moving his head slightly in Monica's direction. She chuckled again and waved the scissors in Heinrich's direction.

"I promise I'll behave," she declared. Heinrich lingered silently in the doorway a few minutes longer, watching him. Bucky met his gaze. Finally, the security guard moved on, scanning the other patients in the mall before leaving through the exit. Monica glanced after him before turning her attention back to Bucky's hair. "What was that all about?" she asked.

"Not sure," Bucky said honestly. "Sometimes I think he's just waiting for me to do something."

"Well, watch yourself," she said warningly. "Don't give him any excuses."

"I don't plan to," Bucky said firmly. "Do you know anything about him?" Monica shook her head, frowning as she snipped away at Bucky's hair.

"I'm only here four days a month," she explained. "Something's definitely off about him, though." Shaking her head, she turned Bucky around to face the mirror. "There. What do you think?" Bucky stared at his reflection. He had gotten out of the habit of thinking about his appearance in terms of aesthetic appeal. There was what was effective, and what wasn't. His hair was still a length he could work with, but undeniably shorter, barely brushing the skin at the base of his neck. Somehow, the way she had cut it softened everything, including the lines of his face. The man staring back at him didn't look like a hardened and dangerous assassin. He looked… approachable. Kind. Maybe attractive, even. He smiled, and his reflection beamed back at him.

"Wow," he breathed. "This might be the best haircut I've ever gotten."

"Really?" Her tone and the look she gave him made him think she didn't think he was being sincere.

"Yes, really." He stood up, casting the drape over the side of the chair and pulling out his wallet. Monica held her hand up.

"There's no charge," she informed him hastily. He frowned slightly.

"Isn't it still customary to tip?" he asked.

"Yes, but not here," she said with a sigh. He started to put the ten-dollar bill back into his wallet, but then as she turned to sweep his hair from the floor, he tucked it under a jar of combs on the shelf. Hopefully, by the time she found it, he would be back on the unit.

"Thanks again," he said, then went to call for someone to come get him, rather than walking the five hundred yards through the autumn-stained courtyard back to the unit.

* * *

When he finally returned, Tim was standing next to his cart of belongings. They had done the farewell ceremony that morning, and Bucky was not looking forward to seeing another friend leave. Tim was the last of the original patients, the ones who had been on the unit when Bucky had arrived. Still, he mustered his best smile as he sidled over to the other man.

"Off to treatment, huh?" he remarked. Tim nodded.

"Here I go again," he said ruefully. "Maybe this time, it will stick." Bucky extended his hand to Tim.

"Best of luck to you, my friend," he said simply.

"Thanks," Tim replied. "Maybe if I fall off the wagon again, I'll come find you and let you kick my ass again."

"If you need me to, I'd be happy to be of service," Bucky rejoined, keeping his expression deadpan. Tim snorted.

"Yeah, you would," Tim agreed. "Probably look forward to it, huh?"

"Only if you really need it," Bucky qualified.

"Yeah, well, knowing me…." Tim shook his head. "Maybe I'll look you up after I get out of treatment. I could use more sober friends." Bucky smiled slightly.

"I'd like that," he affirmed. "Assuming they ever let me out."

"I'm going to assume that," Tim replied. "This isn't the place for you." He pulled his coat out of the bag of belongings on the cart and pulled it on. "Take care, Bucky."

"You, too."

* * *

Bucky was lured out of his room later that afternoon by the distinctive scent of the popcorn maker. He wandered out to investigate. Hannah was in the dayroom setting up a movie and drawing the shades on all the windows to make it darker. Chloe waved him over, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. He went over after getting a bag full of popcorn. He was about to settle in when she held a hand up.

"Wait," she said warily. "You don't  _talk_  during movies, do you?" Her tone made it sound like a cardinal sin. Bucky shook his head. She relaxed visibly, and gestured at the seat again, this time with a flourish. "You may sit." Bucky sat with a somewhat bemused smile.

"What are we watching?" he inquired.

"The latest Disney movie," Chloe said excitedly, then held a finger to her lips. "Don't tell anyone, though. It's not even supposed to be out yet. I don't know how Hannah got her hands on it. But she brought it in to share with us."

"That was nice of her," Bucky noted. Chloe nodded agreement, popping a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.

Bucky had to admit, animation had come a long way since the last time he had seen a movie in the theater. He couldn't even make out the pencil strokes in the animation. The hair and water moved and looked more realistic than he thought was possible. He tried to remember the last Disney movie he had seen in a theater. Something with a deer. Aside from the animation style, the characters, story and music had all improved. There were funny moments, serious moments, and moment when he felt himself starting to get choked up a little. It seemed silly, to get emotional over a children's movie, but here he was.

On the screen, the little girl who was the star was confronting the fiery demon that had been causing so much chaos and disruption in her world. The ocean parted, and she invited the monster to come towards her. It did, crawling eagerly towards her, leaving fire and destruction in its wake.

" _I have crossed the horizon to find you_ ," she sang as she walked towards the flaming behemoth. " _I know your name. They have stolen the heart from inside you, but this does not define you. This is not who you are. You know who you are…_ " Bucky felt a tightness in his throat and chest that threatened to dissolve and leak out of his eyes. A strangled sob from beside him drew him away from the mesmerizing images on the screen. Chloe was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest, her face red and blotchy as tears poured down her cheeks. Wordlessly, Bucky picked up the box of tissues from the end table on his other side and passed them to her. She took it with an attempt at a chuckle that choked halfway and became a loud sob. She quieted, clutching a fistful of tissues and pressing them over her mouth and nose. Bucky turned his attention back to the screen. The girl, Moana, returned the heart to the demon Te Ka, whose charred and blackened exterior crumbled away and revealed the sweet green face of the goddess, Te Fiti. He felt his tears spill over and trickle silently down his cheeks.

He sat for a few moments after the credits began to roll, trying to collect himself. He felt a bit silly, crying over a cartoon, but he couldn't deny that it had resonated with him. And he wasn't the only one it had affected. Chloe blew her nose loudly next to him. As he glanced around the room, he saw others with tears in their eyes – even some of the staff. He snuck a tissue out of Chloe's box and dabbed the wetness from his cheeks.

"Well, that was very different from the last animated movie I saw," he commented.

"When was that?" Chloe asked, still sounding congested. "1945?" Her timbre was slightly exaggerated, as if she had just picked a date a long time ago and was teasing him with it.

"No, I was overseas by then." Bucky stared off into space, doing some mental calculations. "Nineteen… forty-one, I think." Chloe whistled lowly.

"Damn, old man," she commented, her tone teasing. He shrugged.

"Not much I can do about that," he pointed out, standing up and stretching the kinks out of his neck and back. "I think I'm gonna go journal until dinner." Chloe nodded.

"See you then," she replied. She sniffled, then looked back up at him. "Nice haircut, by the way. Looks good on you."

"Thanks," he said, then frowned slightly. He wasn't used to compliments. Besides, he thought she wasn't…

"Oh, I'm totally not into guys," Chloe assured him. "That doesn't mean I can't appreciate your aesthetic. It's just a compliment, Bucky. Don't overthink it." Bucky snorted.

"Fair enough," he allowed, then left the dayroom.

* * *

He was pleasantly surprised that evening by a visit, not just from Steve, but Natasha as well. The three of them gathered in the smaller visiting room. Natasha handed him a folder.

"What's this?" he asked. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"What I could dig up on your guard," she informed him. Bucky opened the folder and began to scan through its contents. "Full name is Gregor Isaak Heinrich. Immigrated from Leipzig on a work visa seven years ago." Bucky frowned as he paged through. "Nuclear physicist who was part of a think tank here in New York." Bucky shook his head.

"Why would a nuclear physicist apply for a job as a security guard?" he asked. Natasha shrugged.

"Maybe the hours were better?" she suggested glibly. They both knew there was something off here. Bucky glanced at her with a frown, then went back to scanning through the papers. He paused when he got to a page with a photo. He pulled that page out and looked closer.

"This is him?" he asked. Natasha nodded. Bucky shook his head. "This isn't him. It might be Gregor Heinrich, but it's not the guard." He pointed to the eyes in the image. "These are wrong." Natasha took the paper from him.

"Are you sure?" she asked critically. "It's just a passport photo. They're not known to be especially flattering." Bucky nodded.

"He's been watching me for almost a month. I would know those eyes anywhere. Those aren't them." It was hard to describe specifically, but there was a kindness and calm in the eyes in the picture that was lacking when the guard looked at him. Otherwise, it might have been his twin. Bucky was confident that there was more going on. Natasha nodded and gathered the papers together.

"All right, I'll keep digging. I just needed confirmation from you." She shrugged. "A name and a place of employment wasn't much to go on, but I've done more with less."

"In the meantime, watch yourself," Steve warned.

"I always do," Bucky assured him. He glanced at his friend askance. "Of course, I keep wondering what connection this has to that news special." Steve had the grace to look chagrined.

"They did kind of give away your location," Natasha agreed. "They didn't say specifically, but there's only so many 'treatment' facilities you could be at. And civil commitments are a matter of public record. I could track that in an afternoon." Steve shot her a long-suffering look.

"Believe me, I regret sitting down for the interview," he admitted.

"So, why did you do it?" Bucky asked calmly. Enough time had passed and enough had happened that he didn't feel the need to give Steve the third degree, but he still wanted to know. Steve sighed.

"She showed me some of the footage she had already, and most of it looked pretty bad. Made you look like a bad guy. She convinced me that she needed another perspective, something to make it more… balanced," he explained. "It was for national television, Buck. I couldn't let them make you out to be… some kind of villain."

"I do appreciate that you had good intentions," Bucky said with a sigh. "But next time someone comes asking questions and wanting to interview you about me, ask me before you talk to them. This was bad enough, but if someone from HYDRA started poking around…" He shook his head. "I don't want to be at their mercy again."

"I will never talk to anyone about you again," Steve promised. Bucky chuckled.

"Well, you don't have to pretend I don't exist. Just direct them to talk to me instead," he advised. Steve sat a little straighter in the chair and saluted.

"Sir, yes sir," he quipped. Bucky rolled his eyes.

"So," he said, changing the subject. "What's Tony up to? Has he managed to shake his security detail yet?" Steve and Natasha exchanged glances.

"Not exactly," Nat said. "He's been charged with attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, discharging a weapon on state property, and carrying a weapon into a state facility. Since the arraignment, he's been…. Very quiet. Uncharacteristically quiet. We're starting to worry about him." Bucky nodded seriously.

"Having a detail on him might be good in more ways than one," he noted.

"You may need to testify once it goes to trial," Steve warned him. Bucky grimaced slightly but shrugged.

"I kind of figured," he sighed.


	24. Day 152

The sun was just rising as Bucky set off on his first patrol. Chloe was sitting in a chair by the door to the still-locked dayroom, looking as if she'd rather still be in bed.

"Morning," Bucky greeted her. She grunted in response. There was usually only one reason why she would be up this early. "Heading upstairs for your... treatment?" He still hesitated to call it that, even though she had corrected him several times. In his mind, it sounded more like torture than treatment. She would be tired and sluggish the rest of the day, but lately seemed to be bouncing back more quickly.

"Why else would I be up at stupid o'clock?" she grumbled, pulling her knees up into the chair and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Do they at least give you breakfast before you go?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I can't eat beforehand. But it's okay, I'm too sleepy to be hungry yet," she replied.

"Come on, Chloe," Levon said, gesturing to her. "Let's go." She sighed and pushed up to her feet.

"See you later, Bucky," she mumbled, yawning.

"See you, Chloe," he returned, and watched her leave out the unit doors, trailing behind Levon. Part of him wanted to run after her and keep them from completing her shock treatment, but he wasn't sure what that would ultimately accomplish. Besides, she said they were helping her, so who was he to interfere with that?

* * *

He watched somewhat anxiously for her return. They were in the group room learning about essential oils and creating different blends when he spotted Chloe returning to the unit. She made a beeline for her room.

"Hey, what do you think of this one?" Justin stuck a bottled under Bucky's nose, and a pungent, rotting scent slammed into his sinuses. Bucky wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"What the hell is that?" he asked, holding a hand up as Justin tried to stick it under his nose again.

"Valerian," Justin read from the bottle. "Supposed to be balancing, calming, grounding and relaxing according to the bottle."

"What about nauseating?" Bucky asked. Justin shook his head.

"No, it doesn't mention that," he said cheerfully. "It smells pretty horrible, though, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes it does," Bucky agreed. "And I don't want to smell it again."

"All right," Justin said, holding the bottle under his own nose. He took a sniff and made a face at the scent.

"Pass me the... Roman Chamomile, please," Bucky requested, consulting his list of available oils and their properties. Laura, who was supervising at the head of the table, sorted through her case of oil bottles until she found the one he requested and passed it to him. Bucky gave it a sniff, decided it was acceptable, and carefully added three drops to his blend.

* * *

Just after lunch, a new face arrived on the unit, escorted by security. Bucky watched from the dayroom as the nurses attempted to explain the admission process to him. He appeared to disagree with what they wanted him to do, raising his voice and gesticulating wildly. Hannah retreated back behind the desk, but the new patient had come between Marguerite and the door. She was backing away slowly as he advanced. Bucky exited the dayroom, Tammy calling after him to stay there as the Code Green was called overhead.

The newcomer swung at Marguerite, who threw her arms up to block but was knocked roughly backwards. Bucky quickly stepped in and caught the man's next flying fist before it could hit anyone. He turned his attention to Bucky, wild-eyed, and continued swinging.

"I'm not your enemy," Bucky told him, easily blocking the blows. He could see the fear in the man's eyes, smell it practically oozing from his pores. "This doesn't have to be a fight." The man lunged towards him, and Bucky fell back a step. He outmatched the man in strength, and could continue deflecting the strikes until the other man tired himself out.

The tackle from behind caught him off guard. He found his face pressed against the carpet while his arms were roughly pulled behind his back. Cold metal slid closed on his wrists.

"Are you going to fight us?" Heinrich's distinctive accent sounded in his ear.

"I wasn't trying to fight anyone," Bucky protested.

"So you say," Heinrich replied. Bucky felt increasing pressure on his back as the guard leaned closer. He could smell the man's aftershave and the garlic he'd had for lunch. "Hail HYDRA," he whispered in Bucky's ear. The words coursed through Bucky like an electric shock, and his blood ran cold. He gathered his legs under him and pushed back at the guard, tossing him to the side. As soon as the pressure released, he rolled to his feet. He attempted to bring his hands back to his front but found the handcuffs that restrained him were not standard issue. In his moment of distraction, Heinrich was on him again. He pressed something into Bucky's ribs, and Bucky cried out as an unexpected jolt of electricity caused his entire body to spasm. His legs collapsed under him, and he fell heavily back to the floor. Heinrich waited until the voltage had subsided before he grabbed him roughly, pulled him to his feet and began marching him down the hall. Bucky glanced over his shoulder Behind them, the other staff still struggled with the new admission, who was putting up quite a fight.

"I'll take him to seclusion," Heinrich announced to nobody in particular. Hannah frowned and looked like she wanted to argue, but the new patient landed a solid kick to her chest, and she returned her attention to the fight that directly affected her. Bucky tried to balk, but felt the sharp points of Heinrich's weapon prick through his shirt again. "Don't try anything," Heinrich warned him. "This taser was specially designed with you in mind. 250,000 volts, 15 milliamps. One hit, and I'll have you doing your best fish impression on the carpet again." His German accent had vanished, replaced by a flat American pronunciation. Without the accent, his voice sounded much more familiar. Bucky's mind was racing as they approached the seclusion room. Heinrich shoved him roughly into the room, sending him staggering inside. With his arms still behind his back and muscles still spasming, Bucky struggled to stay on his feet, but he managed to turn so his shoulder hit the wall rather than his face. He immediately turned, but the door was already locked. Heinrich's eyes taunted him from the slot in the metal door.

"I knew you weren't just a security guard," he spat at the man. Heinrich smirked at him.

"Did you really think HYDRA was going to let you go that easily?" he asked. "You're a difficult man to find. We taught you well."

"I'm not going back," Bucky growled..

"You say that like you'll have a choice in the matter," Heinrich said mockingly. "What do you think they will want to do with you after you've killed everyone in the building? They will be only too happy to hand you over when our other agents show up." Bucky stared at him. The voice, minus the accent, and the eyes staring coldly at him through the slot in the door were the last pieces of the puzzle, and he finally remembered why the man seemed familiar. The last time he had seen him was the day of the battle of the Triskelion, after he had saved Steve and gone back to the Ideal Federal Savings Bank. He had been among the HYDRA agents there, although his face had been different. Bucky had unleashed on them all the rage of his awakening identity, realizing what they had done to him. But he had not killed them. Perhaps that had been an error on his part. But it was not who he was.

"I'm not going to kill anyone," he protested. Especially not here, where he had made friends, and most of the staff had shown him more care and respect than anyone had in a long time. "I am done killing for you."

"That's what you think," not-Heinrich replied, his tone gloating. He abruptly switched to Russian. " _Longing. Rusted."_ A familiar sensation began in Bucky's head, a pressure and disorienting rush.

"No. Shut up! No!" Bucky launched himself at the door, driving his shoulder into it. It shook, but it held. He couldn't get much momentum in the small room, and his arms still restrained behind his back made it more difficult to maneuver as easily as he wanted. He reversed direction and slammed his back into the door instead, trying to break both the door and the reinforced restraints around his wrists.

 _"Seventeen. Daybreak."_ The rushing in his head was getting louder, his desperation rising. He kept a steady, constant pressure on the cuffs as he slammed them against the metal door repeatedly. He hoped the metal gave out before his spine did. After a few more blows, he felt the metal give, and concentrated every bit of strength he could muster on pulling his hands apart. He screamed with the effort, echoing the screaming pain in his muscles. He heard the metal screech and felt it give.

 _"Furnace. Nine."_ His head was pounding now, with the insistent pressure and familiar but unwelcome presence beginning to crowd into his consciousness. He tried to ignore it and focused entirely on getting through the door. It was built to withstand someone trying to break out, but it wasn't built to withstand his enhancements. After three more strikes, it creaked and whined.

 _"Benign. Homecoming."_ Bucky backed into the wall opposite the door to give him leverage and momentum, then flew at the locked door. It burst open, and he launched himself at not-Heinrich. " _One. F-"_ The last word was cut off abruptly as Bucky's fist sailed directly into the HYDRA agent's mouth. He sailed backwards, his head connecting with the concrete wall with a loud crack. He slumped to the floor. Bucky paced back out on the unit. The rest of the staff were still struggling with the new admission, who was putting up an incredible fight as they attempted to put him into the chair. He felt a sudden strange impulse to wade in and murder the whole lot of them. The HYDRA agent hadn't given him the mission explicitly yet, but he had stated that was his intent, and evidently the Winter Soldier had heard. This was the first time he had undergone an incomplete activation. It was not a pleasant experience. He was still mostly in control, but the Soldier was there, too. He wasn't exactly having conversations in his head with him, but there were urges and thoughts intruding on his mind that he didn't think were his. He looked furtively out the windows, remembering that not-Heinrich had mentioned other agents showing up. He felt a strong urge to smash through the windows and go find them. In this state, though, he couldn't be sure whether he would be going to fight them or join them. He could not remain this way, not if more agents were coming. Not to mention, the agent posing as a guard could wake up and find him. It would take very little to complete the activation, and then his will would be taken from him again. He could think of only one possible answer, but it was a long shot, and he couldn't be sure of the outcome.

He snuck down the hallway until he reached Chloe's door, then slipped inside. She was asleep on the bed. He crouched down, violently shoving down the impulse to snap her neck or choke her in her sleep. Instead, he touched her shoulder gently.

"Chloe," he said roughly. She jerked awake, fear and panic on her face. It faded and she relaxed as she saw that it was him.

"Bucky," she commented, his name a relieved sigh. She frowned, scanning his face. "What's going on? You're… different."

"I need your help," he whispered. If anyone found him in her room, they would make him leave. "Do you still think you can… get him… out of my head?" He had to force the words out, as if something – or someone – was trying to prevent him from saying them. Chloe's eyes widened. She glanced at her door, which Bucky had closed quietly behind him, then looked around the room. Shoving aside the covers, she got out of bed and went into the bathroom, gesturing for Bucky to follow her. She started the water going in the shower, but didn't get in. After a moment, he realized she did it to provide noise cover and found himself impressed.

"Are you sure about this?" Chloe asked, keeping her voice low. "I mean, you were right. I'm still very new at this. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can try, but for all I know, it could end with you dead on this floor." Bucky contemplated her for a moment.

"I would consider that the second-best case scenario," he informed her. Her eyes widened, round as saucers.

"Bucky, you being dead would be the worst possible outcome," she hissed. He shook his head.

"No. Worse possible outcome is, the Soldier takes over and kills everyone here." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Including you." He wasn't entirely sure the last bit was necessary, as she went white as a sheet, and tears sprang to her eyes. He wanted to comfort her, but at the moment he was fighting the urge to drown her in the toilet, and he couldn't think of anything comforting that wasn't a lie.

"I don't want to be the one who kills you," she whispered, her voice cracking at the end of the statement as a tear ran down her face.

"You might not," Bucky pointed out, trying to keep his tone encouraging. "You might do it and save me. You'd save everyone." The shower stopped, and Chloe turned to start it again. Her face went from stricken to determined. She nodded.

"Okay," she said, and took a deep breath. "Sit down." She pointed to the toilet. Bucky sat obediently. He wasn't certain this was the wisest decision, but his options were very limited. He closed his eyes and felt her tentative touch on his face. He gripped the sides of the toilet with both hands, not certain what to expect. Blinding, searing pain suddenly sliced through his head, then faded as he tumbled down into darkness.

* * *

He became conscious of cool, smooth tile against his face and a throbbing headache. Disoriented, he sat up, carefully extricating himself from behind the toilet. He stood, steadying himself with the sink. His reflection in the mirror had blood trickling from his nose and an ear. He couldn't hear anything aside from a high-pitched ringing in his ears. He wasn't completely certain where he was, at first. He opened the door to see a small room with a simple desk and a wooden captain's bed. Some hand-drawn art on plain paper was hanging from the walls. He frowned. Was this his room? It didn't seem familiar to him at all. He left the room and exited into a hallway with nondescript carpet, off-white walls and other doors similar to the one he had just gone through. To one side, he could see a large desk. This was a facility of some kind, but what? The ringing in his ears was beginning to subside, and he could hear someone yelling. He followed the noise and saw a young woman with dark hair and wild eyes. She was screaming at the other people, who were standing behind the desk staring at her in shock.

"….get the fucking restraint chair already!" She pulled one of the telephones off of the wall and threw it over the desk. "Put me in the chair!" She looked familiar. Bucky had the sneaking suspicion he knew her.  _Chloe._ As her name popped into his head, a rush of memories slammed into him. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself against the sudden onslaught of images and recollections. He blinked, shaking his head to clear it. He looked around and recognized the unit he had spent the past five months on, the staff that he had gotten to know, and the woman he had befriended, and had begged to save him an unknown amount of time earlier that day.

"Chloe," he called out loud. She whirled to face him. Her face contorted and she backed away, then suddenly smoothed out. She straightened up a little taller, her countenance expressionless save for a murderous glint in her eye. She didn't look like Chloe now, but like someone else entirely.

"I am not Chloe," she declared. Bucky felt a chill lance through him and settle into his bones. "You know who I am."

"Leave her alone," he snarled, recognizing the malevolent presence glaring at him through her eyes. "Get the hell out of her head."

"Gladly," the Asset spat from Chloe's mouth. "This body is much weaker. I don't think it would survive our mission." A hand extended towards him. He hesitated. He was not willing to sacrifice his friend for his sake, but if he allowed his mind to be taken over again, he would be forced to kill her, sacrificing her regardless. Her face contorted again, and she pulled back the hand extended towards Bucky. Taking several swift steps backwards, she picked up a tissue box sitting atop the desk and threw it at him.

"Get away, idiot," she growled. "He's trying to get back to you so he can take over again."

"Chloe, I can't let you do this," he said roughly. She shrugged at him.

"It's already done. Now there's nothing left but to fight him," she declared. Bucky shook his head.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me," he argued. The staff arrived with the restraint chair from next door, and Chloe practically leaped into it.

"I have no intention of sacrificing myself," she assured Bucky as they began strapping her into the frame. "I just need to make sure he can't hurt anyone. Including me." She seemed to relax slightly as the straps tightened on her shoulders, arms and feet. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and the subtle shift came over her features again. She glared at Bucky. " _You think you've won and you're rid of me, but I'll be back after I escape her rotting corpse."_ The Russian words echoed alarmingly in Bucky's ears. He attempted to follow as they wheeled her back to the seclusion area, but Hannah stopped him.

"Bucky, what is going on?" she asked him. "What happened to Greg? Did you fight him?" Bucky hesitated, trying to organize his still-jumbled thoughts to explain the chain of events that lead to this moment. Before he could begin his explanation, the unit's double doors burst open, and in marched Steve, Natasha, Falcon and a diminutive woman with long hair that Bucky didn't recognize. That must be Wanda. The nursing supervisor trailed in behind them. Hannah turned towards them, confusion and frustration evident on her features. "What now? Visiting hours don't start until 6:30."

"We're not here for a visit," Steve informed her. "We're here to apprehend one of your security guards and bring him in for questioning. We were told he was on this unit."

"If you're talking about Greg, he's in no condition to go with you," Hannah said shortly. "The ambulance should be arriving soon to take him to the hospital."

"We'll make sure he gets whatever medical attention he needs," Steve assured her. "But we're not leaving here without him." Natasha sidled closer.

"Turns out your Gregor Heinrich is a HYDRA agent," she murmured. Bucky stared at her.

"Yeah, I figured that out," he replied dryly. "You couldn't have come a couple hours ago?" Natasha looked around at the unit in disarray. Chloe was screaming Russian profanities from the seclusion area. A second voice was alternating between cursing at the staff and yelling at Chloe to shut up. The dayroom was closed and locked, containing a handful of patients watching the events unfolding on the unit with varying degrees of interest and fear. The chart room was crowded with staff, some of them in business suits that Bucky didn't recognize. Hannah looked frazzled and overwhelmed.

"Sorry," Natasha returned. "We ran into some resistance on the way here. They must really want you back." Bucky folded his arms over his chest.

"Not today," he vowed. "Not ever again."


	25. Day 154

Bucky had difficulty remembering the rest of the day, or even keeping track of it in the moment. He kept having episodes of feeling as if he were detached from himself, observing from far away. Other times, he felt as if he were in a dream. Sometimes, a cloud of confusion descended on him, making it difficult to track exactly what was going on. Those were the most frustrating and difficult to adjust to. He hoped they were temporary, and not a permanent development. He was vaguely aware that Chloe continued to rant and yell intermittently for much of the afternoon; sometimes in English and sometimes in Russian. None of what he overheard was particularly encouraging, but the staff wouldn't let him get close to her. Wanda tried as well. He saw her hovering near the door, urgently discussing something with the staff, but they shook their heads and blocked her path as well. She finally nodded, then backed away. As soon as the staff had their back turned, she made a strange gesture. Bucky thought he saw her eyes glow red, but wasn't positive. His eyes and his mind were still playing tricks on him.

Bucky watched – from the dayroom, at Hannah's insistence – as Steve and Falcon frog-marched the HYDRA agent out of the unit's double doors. Natasha knocked on the dayroom door, gesturing for Bucky to come closer. He glanced at Tammy nervously, but she gestured for him to go. He opened the door a crack.

"Don't let anyone know, because we don't want them to worry. We're going to set up a patrol outside the perimeter for the next few days, in case HYDRA tries again," Natasha informed him, her voice barely above a whisper. "We'll make sure none of them get into the building." Bucky nodded, feeling relieved. Natasha frowned slightly, scanning his face and eyes. He thought he saw a flicker of concern there. "Are you… okay? You seem off." He hadn't had time to explain to them what all had transpired before their arrival, particularly the part where he had asked a budding telepath to tear his mind apart. He certainly didn't want to have that discussion as they were exiting. He looked down. It was hard to gather his thoughts when they were still so jumbled. But the longer he delayed, the more suspicious Natasha would become.

"Too early to say," he finally said. "It's been a hell of a day." She nodded understandingly.

"We'll keep you updated on what we find out from your agent," she informed him. He nodded again, frowning slightly. There was something about the agent that he should tell her, but he couldn't remember what it was. He watched her fall into step beside Wanda, and cursed his leaky memory.

* * *

He retreated to the sanctuary of his room soon after they left. Even this didn't feel safe anymore. He triple checked the window to make sure the blinds were closed, and inspected every inch in case the fake security guard had planted a bug in it when he wasn't there. Finally somewhat satisfied, he sat down at his desk and began going over his stack of notebooks. He had a daily journal, which he had been filling with events of each day he was here and thoughts he had about what he was going through. He also had several other journals filled with his recovered memories. He had been trying to recreate the journals he had lost, but found that his memories and thoughts flowed differently. Still, the same thoughts were mostly there. He was thankful for them now. He sat up reading late into the night, reminding himself who he was, what he had been through; trying to fit the jumbled pieces of his mind back together. When his eyes started burning, he decided to get some rest. Maybe some sleep would be helpful.

* * *

His dreams were both intense and disjointed. When he first woke up, he wasn't certain at first if he was awake, or still trapped in a dream. Exhaustion still pressed in on him, but he forced himself out of bed and into the shower. As the water ran over his body, he tilted his head forward against the tile and tried to just clear his mind. His thoughts continued to tumble in his mind like one of the modern clothes dryers. He dried off and got dressed.

Going back out on the unit was even more disorienting. Breakfast was long over, and he had missed both morning meeting and the nine o'clock group. He had been expecting to see Hannah behind the nursing station – her schedule was relatively predictable – but she wasn't there. The unit was unusually quiet, or maybe it only seemed that way in contrast to the chaos of the day before. He walked by the doors to the seclusion area and stopped to listen carefully, but it was as still and silent as a grave. He paced down the hallway and paused outside of Chloe's room. He debated opening the door, but dreaded finding the bed empty, or worse, her dead inside it. He wasn't supposed to be going into her room anyway. Taking a deep breath, he approached the desk. Sarah looked up at him inquisitively.

"Is Chloe… here?" he asked hesitantly. Sarah checked the rounds board and nodded.

"She's in her room," she confirmed. "Still sleeping."

"You're sure?" Bucky double checked. Sarah nodded.

"I just did rounds," she confirmed. "Respirations noted." Bucky took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. It was almost as if yesterday hadn't even happened. If it had been yesterday. He was starting to feel a little dizzy and beginning to question his memory. Had he imagined it all? He shook his head and decided to go back to his room. His entire body was screaming for rest, and he begrudgingly gave in.

* * *

More fragmented nightmares disturbed his sleep for the first few hours, but at some point, they subsided, and he fell into a deeper, more restful sleep. He awakened feeling more rested, and his head finally felt clear. His shower was invigorating, and he realized as he toweled off that he felt lighter and more relaxed than he had in a long time. He hadn't understood how much of his energy on a daily basis went towards keeping his old Winter Soldier programming in check. Now that it wasn't a constant, everyday effort, he noticed the difference. His stomach rumbled, reminding him it had been almost forty-eight hours since he had last eaten.

He was reassured with a glimpse of the clock that he hadn't missed breakfast yet. His stomach growled again as he piled food on his tray until Levon started looking stern, then retreated to a table to fill the hollow emptiness of his stomach. He ate steadily and silently, until the gnawing hunger subsided. He put his tray away and lingered in the dayroom until the end of breakfast and through community meeting. He hoped that Chloe would emerge and put his fears to rest, but she did not make an appearance.

It wasn't until after lunch that he finally saw her. She came for her tray late, after most of the others had left for the cafeteria. Bucky had been surprised to have his meal trays arrive on the unit, but was content to remain on the unit for now. He watched her from outside the dayroom windows, watching her movements and mannerisms. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, but the Soldier could be subtle. He found himself questioning the little gestures when she ran her hand through her hair or pulled her legs under her on the chair. With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and swiveled her head towards him.

"Bucky," she called, "come sit." She gestured to the empty seat at her table. Bucky obediently followed her direction and sat. "I feel like I'm in the zoo with you standing over there gawking at me."

"I just want to make sure you're okay," he replied softly. She glanced at him, and he saw a sly twinkle in her eyes.

"I'm okay, Bucky," she reassured him, then smiled. "Better than okay, I'd say. Your Soldier won't be haunting anyone ever again." Bucky exhaled a long breath and shook his head.

"But how?" he asked. "How did you beat him?" Chloe's expression became pensive, and she stared off into space as she chewed thoughtfully.

"It's a little hard to describe," she said finally. "At first, it was just fighting for control of my body, but then once they strapped me down, it didn't matter who was in control, because we couldn't do anything anyway." She met Bucky's eyes, and he saw a confidence there that she hadn't had before. "He wasn't quite a complete personality, all tactics and strategy and killing. One track mind, but not the usual track. Like if he was more a tapestry than a person." Bucky frowned at her, not seeing the analogy. "You know, just kept hanging on the wall, not doing anything, until they needed him."

"That's… not entirely inaccurate," Bucky admitted.

"So…. Tapestry." Chloe waved a hand illustratively in the air. "You just have to find the edges, and it starts to come apart. It took me awhile to find it, to see it, especially with him muttering threats in my head. But then, everything was highlighted in red, and I could sort of feel and see the individual threads. I just picked, and pulled, and unraveled, and eventually he was just… fragments. Harmless fragments."

"So… the pieces are still there?" Bucky asked warily. How long before they reassembled themselves, and the Soldier reared his vengeful head again? Chloe nodded.

"Some of them. He wasn't all bad, you know. A lot of drive, a lot of focus. It was more what he was missing. You know…. Empathy, compassion… a moral compass. Those, you kept." She took another bite of her lunch. Bucky waited until she finished and swallowed. "Don't worry about him coming back. The voice, the consciousness… that's all gone. All that's left is some personality traits that might actually help me be better at this whole life and adulting thing. Kind of like the psychic equivalent of organ donation." She leveled a pointed look at him. "Unless you want some of that back? It was yours, originally." Bucky shook his head. Whatever was part of the Soldier, he had been getting along without since he escaped HYDRA. He could get along without it now.

"Thanks for the offer, but I want no part of him," he assured her. He took a deep breath. "All those years I spent fighting him, and you took care of him in a day."

"You had him beat, until they came along and triggered you again," Chloe pointed out. "Besides, it's easier to fight someone else's demons than your own. He was weaker once he didn't have you to draw from."

"Well, thank you," Bucky said, "for doing what you did. It's such a relief to know that they can't take over my mind again."

"I should be thanking you," Chloe returned, "for believing in me, and giving me a chance to try. I've been a lot of things and felt a lot of things in my life, but I think this is the first time I've ever felt… powerful." She grinned broadly at him. Bucky smiled back. Chloe settled back in her chair, her eyes dancing at him. "So, how does this outcome rate on your scale?" Bucky thought back to the past couple days; the confusion, the nightmares, the exhaustion, the fear. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sitting here talking to you, and nobody died. Well, nobody important." He waved a hand dismissively. Chloe chuckled. "So I'd say this was the best possible outcome," he concluded. Chloe nodded her agreement, then picked up a small plate from her tray.

"I'm full. Want my brownie?" she offered, extending her dessert towards him. He took it with a shrug.

"Sure. Thanks." He took a bite of the chocolate confection. It was soft and moist. He nodded contemplatively, then looked back up at Chloe. "Definitely the best possible outcome." Her eyes twinkled at him, and she laughed.

* * *

"Bucky, you've got mail!" Sarah announced from the desk. Surprised, Bucky came over to get the envelope. It was official-looking, with the address of the courthouse in the upper left-hand corner. He frowned and opened it up. It was a notice of a hearing, with a date just shy of a month away. The hearing that would determine if he could re-enter society or… not. His mood suddenly crashed. He folded the letter up carefully and put it back in its envelope.

"Bucky, there you are." He looked up to see his social worker, Claire. She had checked in with him a couple times over the past few months, but really hadn't had any news for him. It wasn't her fault; her hands were tied by the judge's order that he stay. "I was going to come and get you. There's a meeting you should be a part of." Bucky frowned slightly at her, confused, but followed obediently as she led him off the unit, down the corridor, and up to the first floor to a meeting rooms. He blinked in surprise at the long table. Seated around it were Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Nick Fury, a man in a security uniform and a woman in business attire. "Bucky, you know Gerald, the head of security. And this is Nicole Vaughn, the Director of Nursing. We were discussing what they have discovered about the security guard that was recently hired." Nicole was giving Claire a hard look.

"Why have you brought a patient to this meeting, Claire?" she asked. Claire met her gaze directly.

"Since he was here targeting Bucky specifically, I thought it was appropriate for him to be present," Claire informed her calmly.

"It is a fact, Ms. Vaughn, that if Mr. Barnes hadn't alerted us to the suspicious guard, we would not have been here to stop the attack on your facility," Fury pointed out. "I don't think it's overstating it to say he averted a much greater catastrophe... and significant casualties." Nicole's eyes widened, and she sat back in her chair, but didn't say more. Bucky seated himself in one of the empty seats, and Natasha slid a folder down the table to him. Silently, he scanned through the papers.

"Gregor Heinrich was a nuclear physicist here on a work visa, working for the Stimson Center," Natasha explained. "But that wasn't who you hired to work here. About five months ago, Mr. Heinrich was picked up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement, supposedly for questioning. Per their records, he was held for a month, then released. He immediately put in his notice at the Stimson Center, broke off his engagement with his fiancée and moved to New York."

"What happened to him while he was detained to make him make such drastic changes?" Gerald wondered out loud. Natasha raised an eyebrow, but continued. She slid a paper across the table towards the Security Chief.

"This is Bryce Newsome. He was an agent employed by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. He was reportedly killed in an attack on their facility approximately one week after Gregor Heinrich was taken into custody." She slid the two photos side by side to the middle of the table. Even from where he was sitting, Bucky could see the two men looked similar. "They are of similar build and facial structure. Our interviews with the man we took into custody from your facility have led us to conclude that your guard was actually Bryce Newsome. He underwent surgical facial reconstruction to alter his appearance to match Gregor Heinrich, learned to imitate his speech patterns, then assumed his identity."

"What happened to the real Mr. Heinrich?" Claire asked.

"Buried in a grave, with a headstone that reads 'Bryce Newsome'," Natasha clarified. Claire went slightly pale. Gerald shook his head, his expression disbelieving.

"Why would they go to all that trouble, surgically altering his appearance?" he scoffed.

"Because he knew I would recognize him," Bucky answered quietly, looking down at the photo of Bryce Newsome. "He was part of the HYDRA team that were my… handlers, right before I escaped. It's not the first time I've fought him." Gerald's frown deepened.

"Can we expect more attacks in the future, then?" he inquired.

"Hopefully not," Steve said. "We will help by keeping an eye on your facility and the surrounding area, and monitoring our known intelligence channels to try to get ahead of any future plans. They took several months to execute this plan, and he has less than a month left here."

"Assuming the judge agrees that he can be discharged, rather than extending the commitment," Claire pointed out. Wanda's eyes widened, and she glanced at Steve for confirmation. Steve's lips thinned, and his eyebrows knitted together in concern. Natasha's face, as usual, was unreadable. Nick Fury's expression was impassive. Bucky stared at the table, thinking of the letter in his pocket. It was amazing how heavy a couple pieces of paper could be.

"If the judge does decide to extend his commitment, we may need to consider other accommodations," Nicole said bluntly. "Recent events have called into question our ability to keep everyone safe with him here. Including him." Bucky winced inwardly. She wasn't wrong, but the reminder that he was endangering everyone around him still stung.

"We will do our part to ensure the safety of everyone at this facility," Nick Fury reassured her. "But we can't control who you allow in. We have compiled a list of HYDRA agents that have not been confirmed dead. I suggest you screen any new employees or recent hires, any potential admissions, or even visitors to anyone on the unit. We've included photos, since it's not likely they would use their real names." Fury passed a thick folder across the table to Gerald. The security chief opened the folder and began flipping through the pages.

"Well, this meeting has been enlightening. And slightly terrifying," Nicole declared, a note of finality in her voice.

"Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice," Fury replied. Nicole nodded and glanced at the clock, standing up.

"It was a pleasure to meet you all," she said sincerely, looking around at the gathered Avengers. "Perhaps next time will be under better circumstances."

"One would hope," Fury agreed. Nicole left. Gerald stood as well.

"I better start going over these," he grumbled, holding up the thick file of HYDRA agents. Then he was gone, too. Bucky looked around the table, wondering if he dared ask if he could stay a few more minutes.

"While you're all here," Claire said cheerfully, "maybe we could have a discharge planning meeting." Bucky frowned over at his social worker, confused. "Your court date is coming up, and while it's not a guarantee they will let you be discharged, I'd like to get a few things in place, just in case. Have you put any thought into where you want to go after you leave here?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Bucky admitted. He hadn't dared let himself imagine life outside of this place since he arrived.

"You could come stay with me, Buck," Steve offered. "My place isn't huge, but you can sleep on the couch. Or take the bed and I'll sleep on the couch. Or we'll put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids." There was an affectionately teasing twinkle in Steve's eyes. Bucky looked over at him, tempted to argue that he didn't need the help. He could survive on his own. He'd done it before. But they had had this conversation before, and he was pretty sure he knew where it was going to go. He decided to skip the argument.

"I'd like that," he said softly.


	26. Day 164

Bucky stared down at the piece of paper on this desk, Cyrillic letters marching neatly across it. He was mostly sure that the Winter Soldier was gone for good, and he mostly trusted that Chloe was correct in her assessment. But he had to be sure. In the stillness of his room, he read aloud the words on the paper. Nothing happened.

He wasn't really sure what he expected. He couldn't necessarily trust it, though, since he had never attempted to trigger himself and wasn't certain it was possible. He would have to have someone else's help. He couldn't ask Chloe; he didn't want her thinking he didn't believe she had done what she said she did. Folding up the piece of paper, he shoved it in his pocket and paced out on the unit. The others were watching an educational film on anger and icebergs, but Laura had excused him because he had seen it three times already. Some of the groups were starting to become a bit repetitive. The curriculum seemed to be set up for someone staying for a month or two, or even four, but Bucky seemed to be hitting the upper limit on what they had to offer. He walked past the group room and approached the desk. Reyna was sitting behind the nursing station, bent over a chart. Bucky pulled the paper out of his pocket and smoothed the wrinkles out of it atop the nursing station. Reyna glanced up at him.

" _Could you do me a favor?"_ he asked her quietly in Russian. She blinked at him in surprise.

" _What do you need?"_ she answered. He slid the paper across the desk to her.

" _Read these slowly, out loud?"_ he requested. She frowned slightly, but reached out and took the paper. She smoothed it before her and read it silently to herself, then looked up at him.

 _"Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car."_ She frowned again and handed the list back to him.  _"What is this?"_ Bucky took the paper back with a deep breath and crumpled it into a ball.

 _"Nothing. It's nothing at all,"_ he replied with a relieved grin. He threw the wad of paper into the garbage can behind her. " _Thank you."_

* * *

They finally had completed work on the Sensory Room that was replacing the visitor's room that Tony had destroyed. Bucky signed up to use it, more out of curiosity than anything else. Sarah unlocked the door to let him in. He walked in to find a room that he scarcely recognized. The walls had turned from hospital off-white to a relaxing shade of blue, with clouds painted on the ceiling. The windows were no longer transparent, but covered with lifelike scenes of a tropical paradise. Set into the wall was a large television screen behind some plexiglass. The images were of tropical fish swimming around, with quiet music playing in the background. There were comfortable chairs, ranging from a rocking chair to some kind of stuffed cushion that sat directly on the floor. Tucked into a corner was an overstuffed grey chair that was honestly kind of ugly, but looked comfortable and inviting. Bucky took a deep breath in and sank down in the well-padded chair. He stretched, and the back moved behind him, as if it were about to spill him out onto the floor. He sat up straight abruptly, clutching the arms of the chair to keep from falling out. As his weight shifted, the back of the chair snapped back up. He frowned, turning to look at it. It didn't appear to be broken. Cautiously, he shifted his weight back again. The chair slowly moved with him, and as he leaned back, the cushion beneath his legs rose as well. The padding beneath him was supportive, but so soft that it cradled his body. He wasn't sure he had ever experienced anything quite as comfortable. Raising his arms, he put his hands behind his head and settled back into the recliner. He felt tension leave his body as he watched the fish on the screen swim back and forth. He could tell he would be using this room frequently in the time he had left.

* * *

That evening, Steve came for a visit, and Bucky was surprised to see Wanda was with him. She seemed slightly intimidated by their surroundings, looking around her with wide eyes. It wasn't her first time there, but they had been on a mission last time. Wanda's expression was an odd mix of sorrow, sympathy and alarm as she passed by other patients and other rooms. She trailed behind Steve and Bucky as they followed Tammy down the hall to the visitor's room. They let Wanda choose a seat to settle herself into before they sat down.

"How are you holding up, Buck?" Steve asked. "Only sixteen days left."

"If the judge decides to let me go," Bucky said glumly, then shrugged. "I'm okay."

"Well, I have a bit of news that might cheer you up a little," Steve said with a hesitant grin. "I signed a lease on a two-bedroom apartment today. Guess you won't be stuck with the couch after all." Bucky's eyes widened in surprise.

"Steve, you don't have to do that. I'm fine with the couch," he protested.

"You're saying you wouldn't like to have your own space?" Steve asked pointedly.

"Well, no," Bucky admitted with a chuckle. "I'm just… you've already done a lot for me, Steve. I can get back on my feet fast. I wasn't planning to impose for long."

"It's not an imposition," Steve insisted. "My home is yours, Buck. For as long as you want it." He shrugged and shifted in his chair. "Having you there might actually help it feel like home. Like back in Brooklyn." Bucky felt that desperate guilt knotting in his stomach begin to ease, and a half-smile crept across his face. Perhaps the friendship hadn't become as one-sided as he had been feeling it was.

"I guess we'll see how it goes," he allowed. He looked over at Wanda, who was watching them with eyes alight and a little smile curving her lips, and back at Steve. "How have the patrols been going? Has HYDRA tried to get in here again?" Steve and Wanda exchanged a look, and Bucky could read from their expressions that there had been a non-zero number of attempts.

"There's been a few bids to get in," Steve admitted. "Nothing we couldn't handle." Bucky nodded slowly, then sat back, staring out the window as if he could almost see the shadowy HYDRA figures hiding in the bushes and behind the trees.

"I wonder if it would make any difference if they knew they couldn't control me anymore?" he wondered out loud. "They don't really want me. They want the Winter Soldier. But… I got rid of him." Steve frowned at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Wanda leaned forward, watching him intently. She hadn't been at his original hearing, so she hadn't heard most of the messy details of his treatment at HYDRA's hands. He didn't really feel like going into specifics for her benefit.

"The way they controlled me was through a bunch of words," he summarized instead. "They took away my will and put the Soldier in control. He did what they commanded. But now, he's gone. The words don't do anything anymore. It's just me. And I won't do their bidding." Wanda frowned slightly, tilting her head, and her eyes seemed to glow red for a moment. He felt an odd, ticklish pressure inside his head, as if someone were running fingers through his brain. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry," Wanda said, her eyes dimming and reverting back to a normal green. "You have a, a wound in your mind. Not a physical one, but I can sense it."

"I'm sure it will heal," Bucky muttered, running a hand self-consciously through his hair. That did explain the persistent, intermittent headaches he'd been getting, and the dramatic return of his vivid and disturbing nightmares at night.

"Buck, what did you do?" Steve asked, a shocked note of warning in his voice. Bucky sighed.

"There's a girl here," he began hesitantly. "She has powers, kind of like you, Wanda. She can read minds. She could sense the Soldier as separate from me. She thought she could… remove him. She's completely untrained, so I wasn't going to let her try, but…" He licked his lips as Steve gave him a hard look and Wanda's expression turned thoughtful. "The day that the HYDRA agent went after me, he had the words. I was just a couple syllables away from losing control and becoming the Winter Soldier again. They were going to make me kill everyone in the building. So after I knocked him out, I found her and told her to do it. And she did. She did it." Wanda's face brightened in recognition.

"Was she the one I was trying to get to see that day? Back in the little room on the other side of the big desk?" she asked abruptly. Bucky confirmed with a nod.

"After she pulled him out of me, apparently he put up a fight," he admitted. Wanda nodded eagerly.

"It was a war. I could scarcely concentrate on anything else once I got in proximity. I couldn't get close enough to have any major influence, but I tried to draw her attention to some of his weaknesses," she confessed. "I didn't realize what she was fighting was part of you."

"A part I'm glad to be rid of," Bucky reassured her. Now that she mentioned it, there was a sense of emptiness, as if there was something missing. He was so relieved to be rid of the lurking Winter Soldier presence, he didn't mind the hollow vacancy that was left behind.

"What is her name?" Wanda asked. Bucky glanced out into the hallway, but didn't see her there.

"Chloe," he replied. He frowned down at the floor. "She kind of reminds me of my kid sister. Steve, you remember Lily?" Steve nodded. Bucky stared off into space for a moment, memories of the last time he had seen his youngest sister flickering through his mind's eye. "I wish there was something I could do to repay the favor. She isn't trained enough to be an Avenger, but maybe there's someplace she could go, someplace safe where she could learn to use it…"

"Nothing immediately comes to mind, but maybe I'll mention it to Fury," Steve said thoughtfully. "Seems like if there's anyone who could help, he would know." Bucky nodded.

"Thanks," he replied.

* * *

They chatted about Steve's plans for the move, odd habits of the other Avengers, and places Steve thought Bucky should see after he left the hospital. Both Steve and Wanda refused to tell him any more details about what HYDRA agents they had caught trying to get to Bucky. The hour they had for visiting never seemed quite long enough. It seemed to him that they had just arrived when the overhead announcement that visiting hours had finished came over the loudspeaker. With a sigh, Bucky stood and opened the door for Steve and Wanda to exit, then followed them down the hallway back to the desk so staff could escort them back upstairs.

"Bucky!" He turned at the familiar voice as Chloe ran up to him. "Here's that book you lent me. I finished it." He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Already?" he asked, impressed. Chloe shrugged.

"You were right, I couldn't put it down," she confessed with a grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wanda nudge Steve and gesture towards the girl.

"Chloe, I don't know if you've met my friend Steve before," Bucky said, stepping back from in between them.

"Not formally, no. But I've seen him around." She extended her hand towards him. "Very pleased to meet you." Steve smiled at her warmly and shook her hand.

"Likewise. Chloe, was it?" he repeated, glancing at Bucky significantly. "Any friend of Buck's is a friend of mine." Chloe's grin broadened, and she giggled. She seemed a little… star-struck? She tilted her head to glance behind Steve, and the starry-eyed expression only increased.

"I know I haven't seen you here before," she said to Wanda. "I would remember that." Wanda smiled at her and clasped Chloe's hand in both of hers.

"I was here once before," she said impishly. "You were… otherwise occupied at the time." Bucky raised an eyebrow at her word choice. Chloe's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned pink. "I'm glad to see you're doing better now," Wanda continued.

"Th- thanks, Wanda," Chloe stammered, the pink in her cheeks deepening to red. "I'm a big fan of yours." Wanda looked surprised, and her smile widened.

"Thank you," she replied. "I'm a fan of yours as well." Bucky hadn't thought that Chloe's eyes could get any larger, but he had been wrong. Chloe's mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

"I can walk you guys back upstairs," Tammy offered, breaking the spell.

"See you later, Buck," Steve said. Wanda waved at Bucky and the still-speechless Chloe. She stared at the doors long after they had disappeared through them. Bucky watched her with amusement. After a moment, she shook herself and turned back towards Bucky, leaning nonchalantly on the nursing station.

"Your friends seem nice," she commented. The pink hadn't entirely left her cheeks. Bucky grinned at her.

"Yeah," he concurred. "I'm lucky to have such good friends." His inflection let her know he included her in that, too. He wasn't entirely sure she picked up on it, though, as she still looked a bit dazed.

"Yes," she agreed. "You are." She glanced towards the unit doors once more, then took a deep breath and turned her attention back to Bucky. "I gave you your book back, right?" Bucky held it up and nodded. She nodded distractedly. "Good."

"I think Wanda is seeing someone already," Bucky said gently. Chloe gave him a sharp look.

"I didn't ask about that," she said pointedly, but the pink in her cheeks was already turning crimson. She put a hand to her cheek, feeling the heat. "Shit, was it that obvious?" Bucky shrugged.

"Yeah, kinda," he admitted, and watched the crimson creep towards maroon. Chloe sheepishly shoved her hands in her pockets.

"Well, I'll be hiding in my room, then," she announced. "If you don't see me again, it's because I became the first person in history to actually die of embarrassment."


	27. Day 173

Bucky had hoped to be able to find some way to help Chloe, but hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. He was reading in his room a week later when a knock came at his door. When it didn't immediately open, he got up to see who it was. Chloe's anxious face looked up at him.

"Hey, Chloe, what's up?" he asked, because from her expression, something was definitely up.

"I'm leaving," she said softly, looking like she didn't know whether to explode from excitement or burst into tears. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"What?" Bucky asked, dumbfounded. She hadn't mentioned anything about being discharged. He came out of his room and closed the door behind him. Over by the desk, Claire was talking to a bald man in a wheelchair.

"It's happening kind of fast," Chloe admitted, gesturing towards the man. "Professor Xavier has a school upstate where he teaches people with – people like me. He's pretty insistent that I should go there with him today, and not stay here any longer."

"What do you think?" Bucky asked bluntly. "Do you want to go there? Do you feel ready?"

"I mean, it's sudden," she admitted. "So my head is still kind of spinning. But I kind of feel like it's a chance I need to take, or I might not have this opportunity again."

"And you're ready for it?" Bucky pressed. Chloe furrowed her brow contemplatively and nodded slowly.

"I think I am. Ready to be out of this place, at any rate." Her expression brightened. "I haven't thought about killing myself in almost two months, which I think is a record for me. I really have been feeling better. And I guess… yeah. I am. Ready for whatever's next."

"And you trust this Xavier guy?" Bucky asked next. Chloe glanced over at him and nodded.

"I do. He has kind eyes." She leaned closer to Bucky conspiratorially. "I think he has mind powers, like me." Bucky looked again towards the man in the wheelchair, and wondered if the Professor had any connection to the conversation Bucky had with Steve last week.

"Well, then I'm happy for you," he said honestly. "I hope it's everything you dream it could be. You deserve to have good things in your life."

"Aww…" Chloe's face contorted, her eyes welling up, and for a moment he thought she was going to start wailing. She wiped her eyes resolutely and made a face at him instead. "Knock it off, you're gonna make me ugly cry."

"Well, good luck," Bucky told her. "Take care of yourself." She stepped forward and threw her arms around him.

"I'll miss you," she breathed in his ear. She stepped back before any staff could scold them about boundaries. Bucky watched as she went back over to the Professor and picked her bags up off the floor. As she followed his wheelchair out the door, she turned one last time, and waved. Then she was gone. Bucky was torn between relief that she had found a safe place to go and dismay that she was gone so suddenly and without warning. He paced back to the dayroom, feeling a little lost. Clayton – the patient who had fought with him that disastrous day that Heinrich tried to capture and turn him – was standing in front of the fire exit door, mumbling to himself as he shifted his weight rapidly from one foot to the other. Bucky had tried to have some conversations with the man, mostly to determine if he had been part of HYDRA's plot, but as far as he could tell, Clayton's grasp on reality was shaky at best. If he had been part of any plans, he didn't appear to be aware of it. He turned abruptly and Bucky sidestepped to get out of his way as he paced rapidly through the door. Bucky sat down in one of the chairs with a sigh.

* * *

"…happy for her, but she's another friend gone. It kind of feels like my life has become this revolving door. People come in, and then they're gone, and I'm still here." Bucky sat back in his chair, looking across the small room at Deborah, who was listening intently. "I think I almost preferred being on the run, when I didn't talk to anyone more than I had to, didn't get to know anyone… didn't get attached. That was lonely, but this feels worse." He stared at the carpet, but didn't see the pattern, his thoughts elsewhere.

"That does sound very discouraging," Deborah agreed. "I think it's worth mentioning, though, that by its very nature, this isn't a good place to cultivate friendships or relationships. Once you get out of here, there will be much better opportunities to build relationships with people who aren't going to leave you behind when they have to move on to the next phase in their lives." She titled her head slightly to the side. "I do have to say, though, the fact that you're both willing and able to connect with people after everything you've been though is a good thing."

"I guess," Bucky replied, unconvinced. He stared out the window, scanning the horizon for any signs of HYDRA activity.

"On that topic," Deborah continued. "This is our final session." Bucky looked back at her, startled.

"It is?" he asked. She nodded.

"You have court next week," she reminded him.

"Yes, but there's no guarantee they'll let me go," Bucky said sourly.

"You will have the opinions of several experienced professionals to help the judge make his decision." Deborah informed him. "Myself included." Bucky blinked at her.

"Is that a good thing?" he asked warily. It had taken several weeks' worth of sessions for him to really open up to her about things that were on his mind. Eventually, he had begun to trust her. Now he was questioning if that was a mistake, replaying their conversations in his mind to analyze if anything he had said could incriminate him further.

"The content of our conversations remains confidential," she assured him. "My recommendations will be related to your overall character and stability, and my professional assessment as to risks of your release." Bucky eyed her, not particularly reassured. She smiled at him. "I have already written my report. I'm hoping it can help sway the judge in your favor. There is a place in this world where you belong, Bucky, but it isn't here." The hitch in Bucky's insides unknotted itself ever so slightly. He hadn't thought he would have anyone advocating for him aside from the lawyer that was paid to represent him. "Once you've been discharged, I have a few colleagues I can refer you to. I've picked some that I think would work well with your temperament. If you've found our sessions helpful, I would strongly encourage you to continue on an outpatient basis." She paged through his file and handed him a sheet of paper with names, phone numbers, addresses and descriptions. Bucky took it and looked it over. "I can still be available to you over the next few days, if you think of anything you want to discuss. But this is our last structured appointment. We still have some time left, so if there's anything you want to talk about, any thoughts you have about your progress, or any feedback you want to give me, we have time for that." Bucky breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn't kicking him out immediately after announcing that it was their last session.

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…."

* * *

He hadn't dared to contemplate that he would actually be released after his hearing. He didn't want to have that expectation, only for the judge to find that his fate was to be something else. But now, at least, he could plan for a contingency. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst. He began sifting through his collection of notebooks and paperwork, deciding what was important to take with him and what could be discarded.

Knocks on his door no longer took him by surprise. He glanced over to see Ted in the doorway. Usually they went away after seeing him alive and moving around. Ted paused, though, waiting until Bucky's attention was fully on him.

"You have a visitor," he informed him quietly.

"Steve?" Bucky inquired. Ted shook his head.

"No, I don't think I've seen him here before," he replied. Bucky frowned as he stood, suspicions raised. Could a HYDRA agent be so bold as to walk right in the front door? He followed Ted to the visiting room. Through the window, he glimpsed grey hair and a cane leaning on the chair next to his mysterious visitor. If those were genuine, the chances of his visitor being an attacker decreased rather dramatically. Ted opened the door, and Bucky stepped into the room. The man waiting for him inside stood up, his eyes wide and color draining from his complexion. Up closer, his hair was not completely grey, but more salt than pepper, and both worry and smile lines were deeply etched into his face. There was something familiar about his features, though Bucky was fairly sure he had never seen him before. At the moment, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Bucky stopped just inside the door and waited.

"Well, I'll be damned," the man muttered under his breath. He stepped forward, extending his hand to Bucky. "You're James Buchanan Barnes." Bucky wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question, but he shook the man's hand anyway.

"Bucky," he corrected him quietly.

"My name is James Buchanan Weber," he introduced himself. "You can call me Jim." Bucky froze, watching him carefully. He had a feeling the similarity of names wasn't just a coincidence. "My mother's name – her maiden name – was Lillian Rose Barnes. She named me after her brother, who never returned from the war." Bucky felt like all the air had vanished from his lungs. Lily had been only fifteen when he had shipped out for the war, still in pigtails and not even interested in boys yet. Her letters had followed him across Europe, right up until the fateful day when he had been captured.

"Lily," Bucky breathed, as air finally returned to him. "Is she…?" His heart sank as Jim shook his head.

"Passed away two years ago," he replied softly. Bucky's heart sank. Jim gestured to the chair across from the one he was seated in. "Why don't you sit down? There's a lot I want to talk about. And I'm guessing you might have some questions for me." Bucky sank into the chair, staring as he realized the man sitting across from him was his nephew. They sat in silence for a long moment.

"What about Rebecca?" he asked. Jim frowned slightly, glancing up and to the side in thought.

"She died back in 1997. And Aunt Virginia left us in 2005," he answered. Bucky slumped slightly in his chair. He had suspected, but the confirmation still stung. A knock on the door interrupted the dip in mood, and Hannah slipped into the room with an apologetic look.

"Sorry to interrupt," she ventured. "I just wanted to let you know that the album you brought, we can't allow it on the unit, because of the metal." Jim's eyebrows rose.

"Because of the metal?" he repeated. He leaned closer to her conspiratorially. "I don't know if you've noticed," he stage-whispered to her, "but he's got an entire arm made of metal." Hannah gave him a look of consternation.

"Yes, I'm aware," she replied patiently. "I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. I just have to enforce them." Jim sighed.

"All right. Can you just… take the pages out and bring them, then?" he asked. Hannah nodded slowly.

"Sure. I'll do that." She left them alone in the visiting room. Bucky looked speculatively over at Jim.

"So… I would ask how you found me here, but I think I already know the answer to that," he said. "But what made you decide to come and visit?" Jim nodded slightly.

"Well, you're family," he started. "I saw that news special and realized who you were. I'm retired now, but even as a retired Army general, I still have some pull…" He paused for a moment, looking at Bucky thoughtfully. "I suppose I should give you some background." Bucky nodded, grateful for any scrap of news about his family. Jim sighed and shifted in his chair, glancing down as he gathered his thoughts. A knock on the door interrupted them once again, and Hannah came in, placed a stack of thick pages on the end table next to Jim, then left again. Jim's face brightened. "Oh, good. Visual aids." He gestured to the chair on the other side of the little table. "Might be easier if you sit here." Bucky moved to the indicated seat. From this proximity, he could see that the pages were actually from a photo album. The faces he glimpsed looked vaguely familiar. Jim selected a page and handed it over to Bucky. "Lillian married Robert Weber in 1946." Bucky took the page and felt his heart catch in his throat at the black and white photograph of Lily on her wedding day. She looked impossibly grown up, but still so young at the same time. Her eyes shone with love and happiness as she stood next to her new husband. Bucky vaguely remembered Robert. Many of the boys from their neighborhood had shipped out for the war, and he had been among them. Robert must have made it back.

"She looks… happy," he commented with some relief. Jim nodded.

"Dad was good to her," he confirmed. "Pretty much worshiped the ground she walked on. There wasn't much he wouldn't do for her." He handed Bucky another picture. "They had three kids. There's me, my brother Mark, and sister Kathleen." Three small children smiled up at Bucky from the photo, smiling angelically. "We weren't quite as well behaved as that picture would imply," Jim mentioned slyly. Bucky chuckled. The next picture he handed him was of a young man in a military uniform. This picture had more color in it. "When I was 18, I joined the army and shipped out to Vietnam. Spent ten years overseas fighting, rose in the ranks. Managed to make it home with only minor injuries. Married my wife Margot in 1975, after the war ended. We had two girls, Chelsea and Veronica, and our son Simon was born in 1982." He handed a full-color photo of two little girls with dark curly hair and a bald infant to Bucky. They looked remarkably close to Bucky's recall of his own sisters growing up. There definitely was a strong family resemblance.

Jim hesitated, sorting slowly through the pages. He gazed down at one for a long time before removing a photo and handing it to Bucky. "Simon enlisted on his 18th birthday. Carrying on the family tradition. He shipped out six months later and did three tours in Afghanistan." Bucky took the picture and his eyes widened. The uniform was more modern, and the haircut more severe than he had ever worn, but the face in the picture bore an uncanny resemblance to his. Jim sighed. "When he came back, Simon was… different. Angry. He had trouble keeping a job, kept getting into fights, spent most of his nights drinking. I took a tough love approach with him. Thought that I could encourage him to get his life back on track that way." He handed Bucky another picture. Simon was older in this one, with longer hair. He was smiling, but the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. Bucky recognized the haunted, despairing look; he'd seen the same look in his own eyes on nights when he had been at his lowest, wondering if there was any point in continuing. "I didn't know what he'd been through, but I figured it couldn't have been any worse than what I saw and did in 'Nam. I went over to his apartment one night, found him halfway through a seven-five of Jack Daniels. We fought. He accused me of being a hard-ass, told me nothing he could do would ever be good enough, said I didn't listen and didn't know who he was anymore. I told him my requirements were simple: keep a job, quit drinking and stop being an asshole. He told me that was rich, coming from me. Then I left."

Jim paused, his brows drawing together, and for a moment Bucky glimpsed his raw, bare grief. "That was the last time I saw him alive. The next day, they found him in the bathroom with his weapon next to him. And I realized -" The grey-haired man paused a moment, closing his eyes as he struggled for control. Bucky watched him silently as palpable sorrow filled the room. Jim collected himself and continued. "I realized that it was my fault. I failed him. He didn't need 'tough love' and strict guidelines. He needed help, he needed support, and I failed to offer him either." He blinked away wetness from his eyes and refocused on Bucky. "I know that you're not him. You can't replace him, and nothing will bring him back. But you are still family. And it almost feels like, maybe I can have a second chance to get it right this time." Jim settled back in the chair, his eyes scanning Bucky's neutral expression for a reaction. "The wife and I live upstate, a little ways outside of Harrisville. We have ten acres and a house with enough space for the kids and grandkids when they come to visit. I don't know what your plans are for after you leave this place, but I just want you to know that our home is yours, whether you need a place to stay or just need some time away from the city. You're welcome to visit or stay, whatever you'd like." Bucky's expression softened.

"Thank you for the generous offer. I already have a place to live," he assured the man, "but I'd love to come for a visit."

* * *

They spent the rest of the visit going over the photos. Bucky learned what happened to the rest of his family after his disappeared. Jim helpfully sketched a family tree on a piece of blank paper, then took the time to write names and ages on the back of each photo for reference. When the announcement that visiting hours were over came overhead, he insisted that Bucky keep the pictures he had brought.

"I can make more copies," he explained. "Veronica got all our pictures scanned into a computer so I have all of them on a disc. It's amazing what technology can do nowadays." Bucky gathered the pictures into a stack and carried them with him as he walked Jim back to the nursing station. "Listen," Jim continued as he paused by the desk. "We're having a family reunion in the spring. I'm sure everyone would be excited to meet you. If you're interested, I'll get you the details." Bucky hesitated.

"I'm not sure they'll all be as welcoming as you," he replied honestly. "I've done… terrible things." Jim acknowledged this with a quick nod.

"I saw the 60 Minutes special," he allowed, then shook his head dismissively. "You were a soldier, son. We've all done things we'd rather not talk about in the line of duty. I'll make sure you are treated like family. That's what you are." He shook Bucky's hand warmly, then followed Ted back upstairs, leaning heavily on his cane.

"He looks like you're related," Hannah observed. "Is he an uncle, or your grandfather?" she guessed. Bucky shook his head.

"Nephew, actually," he corrected her. Her eyes widened.

"That's right. I keep forgetting you're as old as you are," she reflected. "That must be a little strange."

"Just a bit," Bucky agreed. He returned to his room and sat up at his desk for a long time, looking through the pictures Jim had left with him, lying them out in chronological order. Familiar faces grew older, care-worn and deeply lined. He looked for a long time at the last picture ever taken of his mother, taking comfort in the fact that she still smiled for the camera. At least his disappearance hadn't stolen all her joy, though Jim had mentioned that she still talked about him, especially at the end as her body and mind succumbed to the ravages of time and dementia. It was bittersweet to see those he loved moving on and living their lives without him, but it gave him a sense of closure that he hadn't even known he needed. It was nearly three in the morning before he finally put the pictures aside and lay down to let his body rest.


	28. Day 182

Bucky ran a comb nervously through his hair, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was dressed in a suit and tie that Steve had brought in for him the night before, and he had even thrown in a pair of dress gloves for good measure. Bucky was loathe to admit it, but he felt a little bit better going in front of the judge without his metal arm exposed. Today was the day. By the end of the day, he would know his fate. Deciding he looked presentable enough, he paced out of his room and went to wait at the nurses station. The deputies would be arriving to pick him up and take him to court at 6:30. He should probably eat some breakfast before he went, but he found that he had no appetite. He watched the minute hand on the clock slowly move to the six, then past it. He exhaled his nerves and began pacing the unit, taking his usual route but at twice the speed he usually traveled. He noted the day shift staff beginning to arrive. They slowly filtered out onto the floor, and Bucky looked at the clock again in irritation. 7:15. They were forty-five minutes late.

"Hey, Bucky, look at you," Tammy commented as she came out onto the unit, rounds board in hand. "You sure cleaned up nice. Waiting for court?" Bucky nodded grimly, with another glance at the time.

"If they ever come get me," he grunted. "They're fifty minutes late." Tammy nodded.

"As if court wasn't stressful enough already," she commented sympathetically. Bucky grimaced. "Don't worry, they won't start without you." Her tone was meant to be reassuring, but he was too keyed up to find the words comforting.

"I just want to get it over with," he half-growled, and resumed his pacing.

"Bucky, they're on the way down to get you," the unit secretary called out, hanging up the phone. He did an about face and strode back to the desk to wait. The clock's mocking hands informed him they were an hour and fifteen minutes late. He tried not to glare at the deputies as they came through the door. He recognized them from when they had transported him here six months ago. Larry stepped towards him, brandishing the modified handcuffs they had brought him in.

"Do we need to put these on you, or are you going to cooperate?" he asked pointedly. Bucky shook his head.

"I don't need those. I didn't need them the first time," he informed the deputy. Larry raised an eyebrow, but gestured for Bucky to take the lead, then fell into step behind him.

* * *

The drive to the courthouse seemed to take forever but was over before he knew it. Bucky found himself seated at a table in a courtroom. The judge presiding over the hearing loomed over him, gavel at ready to seal his fate. He looked down at his hands, both skin and metal concealed by fabric. Beside him sat the same public defender that had represented him at his initial hearing – a middle-aged man who somehow managed to look terrified of Bucky and bored at the same time. His name was something as forgettable as he was. Johnson, or Smith. Aside from a few procedural things, he didn't seem to be doing much talking.

The murmur of voices from those seated in the audience behind him were growing louder. Despite himself, he half- turned and glanced to see Steve walking carefully into a row of seats. Behind him, Natasha, Wanda, Sam Wilson and a mild-looking man with curly dark hair filed in and sat down. Bucky turned back around to face forward, torn between feeling grateful for their support and ashamed at what they might hear.

"Dr. Greenmyer, you were the treating psychiatrist for Mr. Barnes, correct?" The state had mustered a much more charismatic attorney to argue to keep him locked up than they had to defend his freedom.

"That is correct." The doctor's voice was familiar, but Bucky still stared fixedly at his hands on the table, not wanting to look up and see the expression on the man's face.

"Dr. Greenmyer, in your report you stated that you felt the court's previous assessment of Mr. Barnes was in error. Can you elaborate on that?"

"Certainly. I disagree with several of the previous diagnoses. Mr. Barnes has never displayed any unwarranted paranoia." The opposing attorney paused in front of Bucky's table and clucked his tongue.

" _Unwarranted_  paranoia, Doctor?"

"Indeed. I have treated many individuals with erroneous beliefs that they are being pursued by the FBI or CIA. But it isn't truly paranoia when they're really out to get you, now is it? And we have conclusive evidence that HYDRA was after him. Additionally, neither my own interviews nor the testing he cooperated with revealed any sign of sociopathy or volatility."

"But he was violent, was he not?" Bucky flinched at the line of questioning, still staring fixedly at his folded, gloved hands. He was surprised to hear Greenmyer chuckle in response.

"He was not violent without provocation, no. In fact, I think if you review the records more closely, you'll find that what you refer to as his violent episodes were in response to violence already occurring on the unit. That is to say, it was in defense of others, not to harm them. I believe it is also significant that, in the six months he was confined to our hospital, there were no fatalities." The other attorney snorted derisively.

"You expect me to give this man brownie points for not killing anyone for six months?" he asked incredulously.

"That was the danger we were supposed to be evaluating, was it not?" Dr. Greenmyer returned. "I do not think that it is insignificant. This man, besides being trained by our own military, was held captive for decades and only allowed to live when they wanted him to kill. He was told that was his only purpose, his sole objective. That he was, first, foremost and always, a killer. He has the skill and ability to kill, whether using precision weapons, makeshift weapons, or even his bare hands. Yet when the choice was left to him, he did not kill. This, despite at least three attempts on his life, when one could certainly justify using lethal force."

"So, if I understand your argument, sir, you believe that he will not kill, simply because he has not?"

"Past and current behavior _are_  often a reliable predictor of future behavior."

"Past behavior such as the twenty-seven confirmed kills?" The reply came. Bucky closed his eyes briefly, faces of his victims flashing before his eyes. They may have confirmed twenty-seven of his kills, but he knew that the actual number was much higher.

"I can only speak for behavior that I observed, not what might have occurred prior to his hospitalization," Dr. Greenmyer noted.

"Thank you, Doctor. We have no more questions for you today."

* * *

"…elaborate for the court what you meant by the dissociative disorder referenced in your report?"

"Dissociative identity disorder is a rare condition, but it is generally triggered by a traumatic experience, or a series of traumatic events. In this case, it appears the... the ones who held him captive deliberately induced trauma in an effort to create this dissociation, in order to create a fragment of a personality that they could control." Deborah shifted on the stand. She did not appear to be comfortable discussing details of their therapy sessions in such a public setting.

"So what would that mean in the context of Mr. Barnes living in society, among civilians and other potentially vulnerable people?"

"That is an interesting word choice, Mr. MacEntire. Mr. Barnes has been living among the most vulnerable members of our society for the past six months. He has not been a danger to them. On the contrary, he has proven to be a defender, protecting them from those who might have otherwise taken advantage."

"Did you observe this same behavior from the personality fragment that you referenced?"

"I was not able to observe any dissociative episodes that I was aware of. The… alternate personality, based on Mr. Barnes' description, was specifically designed to only emerge when triggered by some specific code words."

"So you didn't have any opportunity to actually witness this alleged alternate personality."

"Not personally, no. But his description is consistent with what has been clinically observed in other cases, with the exception of specific words to trigger the switch to the alternate personality. Most people don't have that."

"Playing the devil's advocate, and assuming his account to you was completely truthful, what would the outcome be if someone did use these trigger words?" Bucky closed his eyes again, visions of blood and death dancing before his eyes.

"That would depend on the person commanding him. Depending on what their objective was, they could order him to carry it out. The alternate personality is lethal, but does not have objectives of his own." Bucky resisted the urge to correct her. As it turned out, the Winter Soldier had had a very strong sense of self-preservation. "However, the core personality – that would be Mr. Barnes – would have little influence, and most of the time, little awareness of anything done by the alternate personality when that was in control."

"So you cannot say with certainty that this… alternate personality… would be as benign as Mr. Barnes' core personality."

"Again, that would depend on the intentions of the person who triggered him. He was designed that way. Although, in our last session, Mr. Barnes did relate to me that he believed this alternate personality had been stripped from him. He seemed confident in his belief that he would no longer be subject to the whims of someone seeking to control him." A low murmur rippled through the courtroom. MacEntire snorted in disbelief.

"Doctor, if I might clarify exactly what you have told the court… You believe Mr. Barnes has this… alternate personality that was harnessed by HYDRA to commit murder for them, because he told you so, but you've never personally witnessed this transformation, and now you expect us all to believe that this alternate personality is gone, also because – just for clarity, remember - because he told you so?"

"Because it's the truth!" Natasha's scornful protest cut through the silence in the courtroom. The low murmur of conversation crescendoed into a cacophony, growing louder and more difficult to ignore. The judge banged the gavel, calling for order.

* * *

"Can you identify, for the record, what your relationship is to Mr. Barnes?"

"Um, I'm his primary nurse." Hannah's voice was timid. She didn't seem to be well-acquainted with court proceedings, but her tone was earnest.

"So you worked with him on the unit on a daily basis." MacEntire's tone was still suave and soothing, no doubt setting the trap he would later spring.

"That's correct."

"Was there ever a time when you felt less safe on the unit because of his presence there?" Bucky tensed at the loaded question, thinking of all the ways he had brought more danger to everyone around him.

"I would say no. If anything, we generally felt safer with him on the unit." Her answer caught him off guard. Startled, Bucky looked up for the first time since the court proceedings had begun. Hannah glanced over at him, and shot him a quick, encouraging smile. MacEntire scoffed at her.

"Safer?" he repeated. "Were there, or were there not, multiple altercations involving Mr. Barnes that required you call security or even the police?"

"Yes, there were," she confirmed. "But not ones that he started. They were always when he came to our defense."

"Always?" MacEntire repeated. He set a piece of paper in front of her. "Even during this incident, on May 23rd?" Hannah scanned the paper, her mouth set in a thin line. She sighed as she realized what he was referencing.

"This was the… one exception. But it shouldn't have happened. The other patient should never have been allowed to enter his room. We weren't paying close enough attention," she admitted.

"But you say he's completely safe, so why would there be any issue with another patient going into his room?" MacEntire challenged. Hannah's eyes flashed.

"How do you imagine you would react, Mr. MacEntire, if you spent years of your life trying to escape from people who went to great lengths to enslave you, were sent to a strange place where you weren't sure if anyone actually had your best interests at heart, and then you were awakened out of a nightmare with no warning?" MacEntire took a step back, looking nonplussed.

"I can't say for certain, but certainly not assaulting someone," he replied.

"In any case, he was not the initial aggressor in that situation, either," Hannah concluded.

"So, your testimony is that he was, in every case, defending either himself or others, and never the instigator?" MacEntire's inflection emphasized his skepticism. Hannah nodded slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"According to the records, Mr. Barnes was involved in no less than ten altercations while on your unit. Does that seem right to you?" he inquired. Hannah's eyebrows rose.

"It seems low, by my estimate, but if you have the records, I would say it must be correct," she replied. MacEntire raised an eyebrow at her.

"That doesn't seem excessive to you?" he inquired. Hannah scoffed.

"Mr. MacEntire, have you ever worked in a psychiatric facility?" she asked. MacEntire shook his head.

"No, Ms. Dahl. I have not."

"While it is true that not all persons with mental illness diagnoses are violent, the majority of the patients at our facility are there because they are a danger to themselves or others. This means that a higher percentage of them are likely to be violent. Which means that fights between patients or assaults on staff are fairly common. So no, Mr. MacEntire, I don't think that ten incidents over six months is excessive, especially when most of those were him coming to our aid." She shifted in her seat, her expression earnest. "I walk into my job every day and wonder if that day is a day I will be assaulted or have a career ending injury. I have not always made it through every shift unscathed. You never really know what kind of day you're going to have, or what you're walking into. But when he was there, we knew he was watching. We knew he wouldn't let us get hurt. So yes, we felt safer with him on the unit."

"Even after attacks from Tony Stark and a HYDRA mole that was hired as a security guard?" MacEntire asked skeptically. Hannah folded her arms over her chest.

"All those incidents prove is that he never should have been in our hospital to begin with," she declared with certainty. Bucky was glad he didn't have to speak with her in that moment, for he found himself speechless.

* * *

They recessed for lunch, which for Bucky meant the deputies escorted him back to the holding cell in the basement of the courthouse. He sat down on the bench to wait for them to bring him back. He wasn't certain what to think after listening to the morning's testimonies. Hearing others' perspective on who he was and what kind of person he was filled him with both gratitude and confusion. He definitely hoped it would help his case. His stomach rumbled. They hadn't given him anything to eat for lunch, but he wasn't certain he could stomach food right now, anyway. The suspense of not knowing what his fate would be was agonizing, and he found himself wishing he could fast forward to the part where they told him what would happen to him. Whether the answer was that he was free to go, confined to the hospital for even longer, or to be transferred to another place…. Any of those options were better than this legal limbo. He stared down at his gloved hands while the clock on the far wall ticked minutes away. He looked up as he heard voices off to his left, by the entrance to the holding area. It sounded like Steve's voice, and he sounded upset. After arguing for a few minutes, the voices subsided, and he heard footsteps. One of the guards approached his cell and tossed a bag through the bars. Bucky caught it, and it squished slightly in his hands.

"Guess you have friends that don't want you to go hungry," the guard commented, before going back to sit at his desk. Bucky opened the bag to find a submarine sandwich. His stomach rumbled again, and he decided maybe he could eat, after all.

* * *

"This court will come to order." The judge's gavel banged loudly, and the murmur of conversation behind Bucky grew quieter, then disappeared. She turned her piercing gaze to Bucky. "Mr. Barnes. Do you feel your time at the hospital has been helpful to you?" Bucky was surprised at both the unexpected attention and the question. He stood up to answer her question.

"Well, Your Honor, I did learn a few things," he admitted. Not all of what he had learned had been part of their curriculum or groups. He had learned that he was not beyond the reach of human compassion, that others found him worthy of their time and attention, that he was good for many things other than killing. The judge smiled thinly and did not ask him to elaborate.

"If it were up to you, would you want to remain at the hospital? Would you continue to find it helpful?" she asked.

"No, Your Honor," he stated firmly. It wasn't just that he was itching to have his freedom back. Until he had a chance to deal with the threat from HYDRA, his presence there put everyone in the hospital in danger.

"I see. And have you made arrangements for after you leave the hospital? A place to stay, follow-up appointments?" came the next question. Bucky nodded.

"Yes, Your Honor." He glanced over his shoulder. Steve was sitting in his seat, shoulders forward, eyebrows knitted together. He looked just as anxious to hear the judge's decision as Bucky felt. He looked back up at the woman in the black robes who held his fate in her hands.

"Do you feel that you would be able to refrain from killing anyone, were you to live free in the community?" she inquired. There was a slightly derisive note in her voice, but he got the sense it was directed more at the opposing lawyer than at him.

"Yes, Your Honor," he said firmly. "I don't do that anymore." Thanks to Chloe, he could be certain of that. She nodded thoughtfully, watching him speculatively for a long moment. His pulse rushed in his ears. She gave a decisive nod.

"Mr. Barnes, the court has come to a decision based on the testimony heard here today. It is clear that you are able to not only safely reside in the community, but also take care of others less capable than you. It is the opinion of this court that it is both unnecessary, and wildly inappropriate to send you back to the psychiatric institute. Instead, this court orders that you be released from the hospital on your own recognizance. The court further orders that Kings County will continue to provide you with a case manager for a period of one year, to provide assistance and support, and to monitor your re-integration into the community. This court does not wish to hear of any tales of death and destruction." She gave Bucky a significant look as she brought the gavel down, and for a moment, he thought she had winked at him. He didn't have time to dwell on that, however. The back of the courtroom erupted in cheers. He sat back down in his chair, feeling so much lighter he thought he might drift away in a cloud of relief.

* * *

The next couple hours were a blur as he was taken back to the facility to gather his belongings and finalize a few follow-up appointments. Bucky felt like his head was still spinning as he walked up the stairs to the main entrance with Steve at his side. He was surprised at the twinge of sadness he felt at leaving this place that had been his home for the past six months. It was quickly eclipsed by excitement and relief as he followed Steve to the car and tossed his bags in. They said the air tasted sweeter when you were free. He had to agree with them, whoever they were. He sat down in the passenger's seat and settled in as Steve pulled out of the parking lot.

"So, where to first, Buck?" Steve asked.

"Home," Bucky breathed, the word both strange and sweet in his mouth. Steve smiled. Bucky settled back and watched the buildings and scenery roll by. The knowledge that HYDRA was still out there, still after him, was a black cloud that marred an otherwise perfect afternoon. He pondered what his options were. A thought occurred to him, and he looked over at Steve. "On second thought, I have an idea."

* * *

"Newsome, you have a visitor." Bryce frowned in confusion as he got up from his bunk. On the other side of the bars, the guard eyed him doubtfully. "Are you gonna try to escape again if I take you?" Bryce shook his head silently. His ribs were still sore from his last escape attempt. Part of him was glad that he was being kept with no bail. Since he had failed in his mission, there would be no rescue from HYDRA for him. The prison would hopefully provide a buffer against any attempts on his life. He half-expected to see his old boss sitting by the plexiglass as the guard led him to one of the booths. He definitely wasn't expecting his mission to come back to haunt him.

As he sat down, he was startled to see the Winter Soldier staring through the clear plexiglass at him. The prized HYDRA Asset already had a phone receiver pressed against his ear. He gave Bryce a significant look. The HYDRA agent hesitantly picked up the other phone.

"Say it," the Winter Soldier commanded. "Say the words." Bryce frowned in confusion. Had someone else triggered the Soldier and sent him here? Was HYDRA going to attempt a rescue after all? He could use the Asset and break out of this awful place… Clearing his throat, he recited the words that would bring the Soldier under his influence and his command. The Asset stared at him through the transparent plastic, unflinching. He reached the end of the words he had memorized and looked expectantly at the Winter Soldier.

" _Soldat?"_ he prompted, anticipating the Russian acknowledgement, " _Ready to comply."_ But the Asset did not respond. Instead, pale blue eyes bored into his.

"The Soldier is gone," he snarled. "You have no power over me anymore. Tell the others. I'm done with you all. Now leave me be. You took seventy years from me. You can't have any more." Hanging up the phone, he stalked away, leaving Bryce staring after him, dumbfounded.

* * *

Bucky jogged from the prison exit to where Steve was waiting in the car. He grinned at his friend as he buckled himself back into the passenger seat.

"How did that go?" Steve inquired.

"I got my message across," Bucky replied confidently. "Whether it will have the intended effect…." He shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

"You know, I think the others are kind of planning a little celebration," Steve informed him, setting his cell phone down. Bucky took a deep breath.

"Would it be possible to do it another time?" he asked. He was feeling drained from the emotional roller coaster the day had already been. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the evening with well-intentioned people that he didn't know particularly well. "I'd really prefer to just… have a quiet evening at home."

"Sure, Buck." Steve frowned as he picked his phone back up to send a text message. Bucky sat quietly, waiting while his friend struggled with the new technology. After a few half-vocalized words and grunts, Steve set the phone back down and shifted the car into drive. "You know, I've been kinda busy moving into the new place this past week. I don't really have anything to eat there. You want to pick up a pizza or something?" Bucky thought about it, then shook his head.

"No. Let's get some real food."

* * *

Steve drove them to a supermarket much larger than any in Bucky's memory. The building itself seemed to take up an entire city block. The doors swished open in front of them as they entered. Bucky gaped at the crowd inside, milling about more fresh produce than he remembered seeing in the entire city of New York the last time he and Steve had gone grocery shopping together. He walked over to a display of apples and began selecting a few that looked ripe.

"So, what's on the menu tonight, Buck?" Steve asked with a smirk. "Hoover Stew? Poor Man's Meal? Maybe some Shit on a Shingle?" Bucky chuckled, thinking nostalgically of the cheap, flavorless meals they had scraped together with a Depression-era budget and negligible cooking skills.

"Not quite," he replied. "I was planning on making cheese and apple-stuffed chicken breasts wrapped in bacon." Steve's eyebrows rose until they nearly disappeared into his hair.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," he accused. Bucky grinned and shrugged. He wasn't incorrect. Steve laughed softly and clapped him on the shoulder. "I can see who's going to be the designated cook." Bucky tossed him a wry grin.

"You might regret that," he warned his friend. "I've only got about a dozen recipes."

"Wait until I show you this thing they have now, called the Internet," Steve replied. "You can find any recipe you want."

* * *

By the time they had gathered everything on Bucky's list, he was starting to feel overwhelmed with the massive crowd and abundance of selections at the store. There were foods that he had never even heard of, multiple varieties of fruits and vegetables and meats, and more choices of even everyday pantry items than he had ever dreamed of.

"Maybe let's just grab some Coke and then check out," he suggested to Steve. Steve smirked at him.

"Do you want Coke Classic, Diet Coke, Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, Coke Zero, Cherry Coke, Vanilla Coke, Coke with Lime, Diet Coke with Lime, Diet Vanilla Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Diet Cherry Vanilla Coke…." Steve trailed off with a smirk as Bucky gave him a disbelieving look.

"You're just fucking with me," he accused. Steve shook his head and gestured down the aisle lined with skinny cartons labeled with different soda flavors. Bucky scanned through the brightly colored packaging. "Why don't you choose, and then we can get out of here?" Steve selected two of them to toss in the cart, and they turned around in search of the checkout.

They even had automated check-out stations now, but Bucky opted to steer into a line with a live person to check them out instead. She looked like she might still be in high school, with curly hair colored with streaks of green and blue.

"You bag, I'll pay," Steve suggested. Bucky shook his head.

"No, I can pay this time," he asserted. "You can buy next time." Steve went to the end to start bagging up the groceries. Bucky almost choked when the check-out girl announced the total. He and Steve would have been able to eat well for a month on what he had just spent on one night's dinner. He handed her his money, and she gave him a scant handful of coins as change. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" she chirped back at him. "Can I just say, you two make a really cute couple." Steve frowned at her from the end of the aisle, where he had finished bagging up their food.

"Couple?" he repeated. "We're not…"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, her face turning bright pink. "I just assumed…"

"We're BFFs," Bucky informed her solemnly, then slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Come on, Punk. Let's go home."


	29. Epilogue

As winter melted into spring, the first green appeared on the trees in Central Park, and the grey-white mounds lining the streets melted into curbside rivers and muddy swards. The days grew longer, and the residents of the city that never sleeps grew ever more eager to take part in its entertainment options.

One such offering was seeing a significantly larger increase in foot traffic with the changing of the season. Genevieve's Neighborhood Pub, known locally as Gen's, was not used to running out of tables. Tonight, however, there was standing room only at the bar, and several people waiting for tables to be vacated so they could eat. Genevieve and Jessamyn moved briskly behind the bar, serving drinks to an enthusiastic crowd. Cassidy, Tara and Cameron moved among the tables, distributing drinks and dishes, taking orders and collecting tips.

Back in the kitchen, Bucky worked methodically, cooking and plating orders. He had been lucky to find someone willing to hire him as a line cook with as little experience as he had and a seventy-year gap in his resume. The pay wasn't spectacular, at least by today's standards, but they were only open in the afternoon and evenings, which allowed him to attend the culinary classes at the local college during the day. He found that he really enjoyed the challenge and the fast pace of working in the kitchen. There were fringe benefits, too, like free food while he was on the clock, and the wait staff usually shared their tips with him. He was grateful that he had found a job he enjoyed so much, and that the eponymous Genevieve had been impressed with his cooking skills and also willing to overlook the darker aspects of his history.

"French Dip up!" he called, sliding the prepared plate onto the serving counter, then immediately turning his attention back to the burgers cooking on the grill. He had already assembled the buns and toppings for the next four orders. He deftly added the meat, added pickle spears and spiked it all with toothpicks, then added them to the queue. The food at Gen's wasn't exactly fine dining, but it was enough variety to keep him from getting bored.

The night progressed in a predictable fashion. Orders came in steadily for the first few hours, then tapered off as the late night crowd focused more on the liquid options available to them. Conversations grew louder. As always, Bucky kept an eye and an ear out for trouble. He didn't think he would ever be able to turn that part of his brain completely off. So it didn't take him by surprise when Cassidy thumped on the counter to get his attention.

"Code Green, Bucky!" she called. He quickly pulled the pickles out of the deep fryer before emerging from the kitchen to investigate. Two patrons, obviously intoxicated, had begun pushing each other, voices raised to scream at each other over the music from the jukebox and the din of other conversations. The crowd parted in front of Bucky as he emerged from the kitchen door, their voices dropping to hushed whispers. He stepped in between the two men just as one of them threw a punch. Bucky caught his fist in his metal hand, arresting its momentum immediately. The drunk man glared at him angrily, but the fury on his face quickly ebbed away as he recognized him.

"Hey, you… you're…" He pointed a finger from his free hand at Bucky as he slurred his recognition.

"Is there a problem here?" Bucky asked flatly, ignoring the man's alcohol-garbled attempts to identify him. He glanced over his shoulder at the other participant of the fight. His eyes were similarly glazed, but he held his hands up in surrender and backed away. Satisfied that he wasn't going to cause any more trouble, Bucky returned his attention to the initial aggressor.

"Yeah!" he replied enthusiastically, jerking his hand towards the man he had swung at. "This motherfugger…. Called me…. Called me…." He hesitated, weaving on his feet. "I don't remember now. But it was fuggin' offensive!" He lunged in the direction of the offender, but Bucky halted his progress easily.

"I'm sure it was. You've had enough," Bucky declared decisively. "Let's go outside, and you can either get in a cab to go home, or we can have the cops give you a ride instead."

"Aww, c'mon, man!" the tanked-up fellow protested. "I w's just startin' to have fun."

"Party's over," Bucky replied firmly, applying pressure to the man's shoulders in the direction of the exit. People moved out of his way quickly as he escorted the inebriated man out of the pub. The night air outside was cool. Bucky quickly flagged down a taxi and deposited the would-be brawler in the backseat, tossing some cash to the driver. He went around back and slipped back into the kitchen through the service door, just in time for the late-night rush.

* * *

The kitchen closed an hour before the pub did, giving Bucky time to clean up and prep a few things for the next day. He finished early and emerged just in time to help with three college girls who refused to leave even though they were closing. He didn't use quite the same strong-arm tactics with them. They became much more cooperative once he appeared. He fended off their clumsy, uncoordinated passes and dodged whiskey-pickled kisses before sending them off in a late-night taxi. By the time he went back inside, Genevieve was wiping down the bar while the others divided up their tips. Cassidy presented him with a wad of cash with a flourish.

"For our hero," she announced. Bucky glanced at the thick roll of bills in surprise.

"Looks like it was a good night," he observed.

"Pretty amazing, especially for a Thursday," Jessamyn agreed. Bucky tucked the cash away in a pocket, then went to retrieve the two containers of food he had set aside to take home with him. By the time he emerged from the kitchen again, the others had left, save for Genevieve behind the bar.

"Heading out?" she asked.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "I still have packing to do." He stopped and leaned on the bar across from her. "Thanks for letting me have the weekend off. It's… really important to me."

"Barnes, you haven't taken a single night off since I hired you. If you hadn't asked for some time, I was going to tell you to take a few," she assured him.

"I know, but it's the weekend," he pointed out. "I know how busy it gets."

"We can manage for a few days," she affirmed. "It's been going gangbusters the last few weeks, since word got out that you were here." Bucky frowned at her slightly.

"What does that mean?" he asked. She chuckled at him.

"There's not too many restaurants in this city that can claim their own living urban legend. A lot of the new customers are coming in hoping to catch a glimpse of the Winter Soldier." Bucky frowned at her in consternation. "What, did you think they were coming just for the food? You're a good cook, but our menu is pretty average."

"Yeah, I actually had some ideas about that," Bucky ventured. "I've been learning a lot in my courses, and I think we could add a few selections, change up some others. Kinda freshen up the menu." Genevieve cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Barnes, are you trying to class up my burger joint?" she accused in an amused tone. Bucky felt his face grow hot.

"I mean, I wasn't thinking anything outrageous. Maybe some different meats, update the burgers and sandwiches, add some traditional dishes with a twist," he suggested. Genevieve leaned closer, regarding him with lively green eyes.

"First, you fill in as occasional bouncer after I caught Francois stealing from me. Then, you give business a boost just by being here and letting the rumor mill do its work. Now, you have ideas on ways to improve my menu…" She clucked her tongue and shook her head at him. "I might just have to give you a raise." Bucky relaxed slightly, relieved that she wasn't upset at his suggestions.

"I mean, I wouldn't argue against that," he replied. "Rent is ridiculous nowadays." Genevieve clucked her tongue at him.

"Well, then I'd say we have a few things to discuss when you get back," she noted. "Have a good weekend. See you on Monday."

* * *

"Court now in session!" The rap of the gavel silenced the intermittent conversations in the courtroom. Bucky was seated in the audience this time, sitting between Steve and Natasha. In front of him, sitting beside the best lawyer money could buy, Tony Stark sat at the defendant's table in a designer Italian suit. He had been convicted of assault with a deadly weapon, first-degree criminal mischief and second-degree criminal possession of a weapon. The attempted murder charges had rendered a not-guilty verdict, thanks to his high-priced attorney, but it didn't appear that Tony was about to escape consequences completely. The judge peered at him over the top of his reading glasses.

"Before the official sentencing of Mr. Stark, the court will hear victim statements, if there are any," the judge announced, then prompted, "Mr. Bosch?" The attorney representing the state of New York stood.

"Yes, your Honor. We do have one person who would like to say something. The state calls James Barnes to the stand." Both Steve and Natasha glanced over at Bucky in surprise. They were not the only ones startled by the announcement. A whispering murmur rippled through the courtroom as he stood and made his way to the witness stand. He settled in, pulled his notes out of his pocket and smoothed them on the podium in front of him. He looked over at Tony, who was sitting at the defendant's table with his head bowed. He didn't look up at Bucky but focused straight ahead in a thousand-yard stare. Bucky had seen him only a handful of times since the attack, when they had subpoenaed him to testify during the trial. Each time he had seen Tony, it seemed the man grew thinner, paler and more hollowed out. It was clear the trial had taken its toll on him. His once carefully-tended goatee had expanded into a full beard, and the dark circles under his eyes betrayed how little he had been sleeping. There was little left of the cocky genius playboy millionaire philanthropist in this broken man whose world had crumbled around him. Bucky cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began to read his prepared statement.

"I want the court and Mr. Stark to know that I hold no animosity towards him," he read aloud. "I can imagine what a shock it would be to suddenly find out that your parents were actually murdered, and that you know the location of their killer. While his response may not have been rational, it was certainly understandable. He is, after all, an Avenger. Why wouldn't he try to avenge his parents? Given the circumstances, I would ask that the court show him leniency." His gaze shifted back to Tony, who wasn't looking directly at him, but seemed to be listening. "Tony, if there was something – anything – that I could do to bring them back, or change what I was made to do, I promise you, I would do it. I wish it hadn't happened. I am sorry for the role I played in their deaths. I wish you hadn't had to lose both of your parents so suddenly, so young. I don't blame you for trying to kill me. I just hope that someday, maybe, you could find it in your heart to forgive me." Tony closed his eyes. Bucky stood and made his way back to his seat. Someone caught his wrist as he made his way through the rows. Bucky looked over to see Bruce Banner, who gave his hand a grateful squeeze and silently mouthed the words "thank you." Bucky nodded at him. As he settled back into his seat, Natasha looked like she wanted to say something, but he shook his head slightly at her as he sat down.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes," the judge said, raising his voice to be heard over the growing buzz of conversation, which subsided as he spoke. "The court will take into account your request for leniency. We will also take into consideration Mr. Stark's past contributions to our good city, both through Stark Enterprises and the heroic acts of Iron Man." He gestured to the defendant's table, and Tony's attorney stood. A moment later, so did Tony. "Mr. Stark, the court rules that you must pay a fine of $500,000 for the damage caused to the psychiatric hospital. Your crimes do carry a minimum sentence of five years imprisonment. But given the request for clemency from your victim and your record of service to this city and this country, this court is willing to commute your sentence to five years' probation, on the condition that you attend anger management classes and work with a qualified therapist." The gavel banged, and Tony sagged back into his seat, his attorney clasping his shoulder with a grin. The courtroom grew louder as the audience began to discuss the day's events and slowly file out.

"You guys up for a celebratory drink?" Natasha asked. Bucky shook his head. He doubted Tony would want him at any kind of celebration for a while, all things considered.

"I'll have to take a rain check," he answered apologetically. "We've got a six hour drive ahead of us."

"Speaking of which," Steve said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We should get going."

* * *

Once out of the city, the landscape became much greener and more open, with long stretches between towns. Bucky and Steve took turns driving the car Steve had rented for the occasion. Today's vehicles seemed like something out of science fiction story compared to the cars he recalled from almost a century ago. They were certainly more comfortable. There was something about driving across the state with his best friend and roommate that gave him a sense of freedom like never before.

"…keep finding flags and flag-themed things stashed in my locker with my uniform." Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I even found American flag underwear the other day, which honestly seems really disrespectful. Everyone denies that they're doing it, but I suspect either Nat, Scott, Clint or Sam. Possibly all of them." Bucky chuckled at Steve's tale and expression of annoyance.

"Sounds like a conspiracy to me," he joked. "Maybe I can find out who's doing it… and help them out." Steve shot him a dirty look, but then his expression shifted to a tolerant grin.

"You would," he complained. "Jerk." Bucky smirked at the road ahead.

"So, are you wearing the flag underwear? Like right now?" he asked nonchalantly. Steve heaved a long-suffering sigh but didn't answer. He frowned down at the gauge cluster behind the steering wheel.

"Looks like we need gas," he noted out loud. "Help me find a gas station." Bucky shifted in his seat and pulled out his phone. He had just gotten it in the last month. Cassidy had showed him some of its capabilities, and it was thrilling to him to have this portable piece of the future in his pocket. Phones nowadays were not really phones anymore; they were pocket computers with the ability to make calls. He quickly did a search.

"There's one in seven miles," he announced.

"That was fast," Steve commented. "I don't think my phone does that."

"That's because you have an old man phone, old man," Bucky said teasingly.

"I'm still younger than you," Steve returned archly.

"Maybe so, but which one of us is in charge of reprogramming the clocks, the stove and the coffeemaker whenever the power goes out, and which one of us had to call Scott last week because he couldn't figure out how to install the new printer?" Bucky pointed out.

"Which one of us insists on blocking the camera and microphone of every computer-type thing in the apartment?" Steve countered.

"If you knew as much as I do about what they can use those for, you'd want them blocked or turned off, too," Bucky argued bluntly. Some habits died hard. HYDRA hadn't made any attempts to either eliminate or recover him since he had left the hospital, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be any. He was trying hard to adjust to living the life of a responsible citizen, with a permanent address, on-the-record employment and utility bills. Keeping his schedule filled with classes and work at least left him less time to ruminate.

"Speaking of old technology," Steve mentioned as he pulled off the road into the gas station, "there's a letter for you in the glove box. Came in the mail this morning." Curious, Bucky opened the glove compartment while Steve pulled up to the gas pump and got out of the car. He didn't immediately recognize the handwriting or the return address, but the C. Thompson in the corner seemed familiar. Turning the envelope over, he slid his metal finger underneath the flap, feeling carefully for any sign of traps or triggers. He opened the envelope to find a folded piece of paper. He slid it out and unfolded it.

 _Hey, Te Fiti._ Round, careful letters marched across the page. Bucky half-smiled, bemused by the greeting.  _I hope you don't mind that I tracked down your address. You didn't give me any contact info, so I found what I could and decided to do this the old-fashioned, paper way._

_I wish you could see this school. It doesn't look like any school I've ever seen. It used to be a mansion. Still is, I suppose. There are gardens and massive rooms and a pool and everything. There's a ton of other kids here, and all of them have wild abilities. Some more useful than others. Most of them are a lot younger than I am, but Professor Xavier has been tutoring me one on one. I've learned a lot, but he says I have a lot more potential. Apparently, he contacted my mom and stepdad a few years ago and wanted to enroll me in the school then, but they told him to get lost. Figures, huh? Could have saved me at least five suicide attempts. But I guess that's in the past. I'm on a different path now. The Professor has shown me a few things I can do when my mind starts going to those dark places. They happen less often now. Overall, I'd say life is pretty good._

_There are other adults here, too, of course. There's a woman who has mental powers, like me, but I don't know if I will ever do what she can do. There's a man – her boyfriend, I think – who can shoot laser beams out of his eyes. There's a man who kind of reminds me a little bit of you, except he has metal claws, not a metal arm, and he smokes like a chimney. He's all gruff and grumbly outside, but has a heart of gold underneath that. Kind of like you, Te Fiti._

_I think if I were to try to pull the Soldier out of you now, I would do a better job. Less damage to you, a quicker, easier fight with him. But we live and learn, right? And I've learned so much. I hardly feel like the same person I was a year ago. It's incredible what a difference it makes when you have people around you who believe in you. I hope that you've found the same. You deserve that._

_Anyway, write back if you like. Or email or text, if you're catching up to this century. I wrote my info at the bottom. I hope our paths cross again, but even if they don't, I will always remember you. I wouldn't be where I am now if I hadn't met you. I'm not sure I believe in fate, but if there is any grand design to the universe, maybe there was a reason we were put in the same place at the same time. Take care of yourself, Bucky._

_Love, Chloe_

Bucky jumped as the driver's side door opened and a plastic bag sailed into his lap. Steve settled in behind the wheel once again.

"What the hell is this?" Bucky queried, peering down into the bag. "It looks like… Halloween."

"According to Sam, you can't have a road trip without a ridiculous number of snacks, usually purchased at a gas station," Steve explained. Bucky sifted through the contents of the bag with interest.

"They still make Charleston Chews?" he asked excitedly, fishing the familiar candy bar out of the bag. "I haven't had one of these in…."

"Eighty years?" Steve guessed.

"Just about," Bucky agreed. "What else do you have in here?"

"Little bit of everything," Steve said amicably. "Some you'll remember. Some are new. And a few varieties of chips for when they get too sweet."

"Did you remember to get anything to drink with all this sugar and salt?" Bucky asked pointedly. Steve handed him a liter bottle of water.

"Nat would call that the 'palate cleanser,'" he quipped. Bucky shook his head, but tucked the bottle of water next to him.

"I guess we're only missing one thing, then," Bucky observed. Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's that?" he asked. Bucky smirked and turned on the radio.

"Music."

* * *

The six hour trip passed by faster than Bucky would have believed possible. Even though they were roommates, he and Steve hadn't seen much of each other lately. Steve had been running missions with the Avengers, sometimes gone for days at a time. Bucky spent more time at the restaurant and his classes at the college than he did at home. He made sure to leave plenty of prepared food in the refrigerator for Steve, but it wasn't the same as spending time together. Now, they were enclosed in the same small space with each other, and not much else to draw their attention. They reminisced about old times, talked about friends and coworkers, laughed and joked, caught up on each other's lives. It was dark before they pulled up to the farmhouse surrounded by trees, but Bucky found himself wishing they still had several more hours to travel. Of course, he still had the trip back to look forward to.

Steve trailed slightly behind Bucky as they approached the house, passing by several other vehicles parked outside. Gathering his courage, he walked up the three steps and knocked on the front door. He could hear voices and laughter from inside, and footsteps approaching. The door was opened by a blue-eyed woman with light brown hair, her mouth open in laughter. As soon as she focused on Bucky, her smile faded, and she froze. Her eyes widened, and the color drained from her face.

"Simon?" she whispered. The conversations from inside the house abruptly dropped away, and he felt more eyes on him. Bucky shook his head.

"No, I'm…" he began to explain, but was interrupted by a familiar voice from inside.

"Ronnie, honey, this is that guest I told you about." Jim hastily joined his daughter at the door. "This is your Great-Uncle Bucky." Veronica slowly turned towards her father with a bewildered look on her face.

"Great Uncle?" she repeated. "Dad, he looks like he's the same age as me. And he looks just like – " Jim held up a calming hand.

"I know, I know. I'll explain. But let's not leave the man standing outside in the dark. Come in, Bucky, come in." Jim stepped back, waving Bucky inside. He paused a bit as Steve followed.

"Jim, this is my friend Steve. Steve Rogers. You may have heard of him?" Bucky ventured. Jim grinned broadly.

"Well, I never… Captain America himself, here in my living room. Very pleased to meet you, sir." He shook Steve's hand enthusiastically. "Come on in, both of you. Make yourselves at home." He turned towards a doorway, through which Bucky glimpsed cupboards and a refrigerator. "Margot!" Jim called. "Come see who's here!" A slim woman with faded blonde hair twisted into a chignon emerged from the kitchen, half-full glass of wine in hand. The start of a smile spread across her face at the sight of Steve, but then arrested halfway as she noticed the man with her dead son's face. She stood staring at Bucky for a long moment, and Bucky started to wonder if it had been a mistake to come. He didn't want to cause this woman more grief by reminding her of what she'd lost. But then she crossed the distance between him and wrapped him in a warm hug that left no question about whether he was welcome or not. After a moment, he returned the hug, careful not to squeeze too hard with his metal arm. She released him and took a step back, brushing dampness from her cheek with her free hand.

"Bucky, so glad you could make it," she said, an odd catch in her voice. Jim stepped up beside his wife, one hand snaking around her waist and pulling her closer. She leaned against him, and he squeezed her comfortingly.

"Bucky, this is my daughter Veronica," Jim introduced, his hand moving to indicate each person as he presented them. "Chelsea is over by the piano there with her boyfriend Pete. My brother Mark and his wife Imogene, their daughter Liz and her wife Amanda; their son Andy and his wife Kelsey. My sister Kathleen and her husband Jason, their boys JJ and Luke. Their daughter Iris is downstairs with the grandkids, along with JJ's wife Erin."

"A pleasure to meet you all," Bucky responded, giving an awkward wave of his hand to these strangers who shared his blood.

"Bucky is short for James Buchanan Barnes," Jim explained to the still-stunned others. "Mom's brother. He was a POW overseas until very recently, and we're glad he's home now. You're all familiar with Steve Rogers, I assume?" Jim's expression and tone were cordial, but there was a keen glint in his eye that challenged anyone to protest Bucky's presence. Steve nodded to the roomful of people and touched his temple in a subtle salute. Jim turned his attention back to Bucky. "Tomorrow, the rest should be here. There'll be the Proctors – that's Rebecca's boys and their families – and the Lyons – Virginia's daughter and her kids. Chelsea, can you show them where they can put their bags?" Chelsea nodded and crossed the room to them.

"This way," she announced, gesturing for them to follow. She glanced from Bucky to Steve and back speculatively. "Do you need one bed or two?" Bucky and Steve exchanged a glance. They had been mistaken for a couple often enough that it no longer took them by surprise.

"Two, please," Bucky informed her. She nodded and led them up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway.

"You'll be in the room set up for JJ's twins, then. It has bunk beds," she explained, her tone apologetic. "Usually, you'd each be able to have your own room, but tonight space is a little tight."

"I call top bunk," Steve said quickly. Bucky gave him a sardonic look.

"We can figure that out later," Bucky replied, promising nothing.

"Get settled in and then come back downstairs," Chelsea instructed. If Bucky's resemblance to her lost brother bothered her, she had given no sign. "There's drinks and snacks in the kitchen, and then once the littles are in bed we're going to have a Spoons tournament." She left without further comment. Steve looked at Bucky in surprise.

"They're having a Spoons tournament," he repeated. Bucky nodded with a grin.

"Yeah. I guess Lily must have passed it on," he mused.

"Do you think they realize who taught her to play it?" Steve asked with a sly grin. Bucky chuckled.

"Guess they'll find out," he said.

Veronica met them at the base of the stairs. She looked at Bucky with a mixture of suspicion, sadness and hope.

"So, can someone explain to me how you are my grandmother's older brother but you look just like my brother?" she asked in irritation.

"Same reason I look younger than you," Steve offered from behind Bucky. Veronica raised a dubious eyebrow.

"You were frozen for seventy years?" she asked skeptically.

"Off and on," Bucky answered quietly. "The resemblance I have no explanation for, aside from genetics. I'm sorry for your loss." Veronica stared at him intensely, looking deep into his eyes as if searching for pieces of her brother's soul. Bucky stood still, meeting her piercing gaze frankly and honestly. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to relax.

"Your features are very similar," she noted, "but your eyes are different. Softer. Older. Wiser."

"Older for certain," Bucky agreed with a small smile. "Not sure about the rest." With a snort, Veronica smiled and stepped back out of Bucky's personal space. Bucky and Steve followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, where the others were gathered.

* * *

Bucky wasn't really sure when it happened. It might have been while he was helping Margot prepare another round of hors d'oeuvres, or when he beat them all at Spoons to the tune of good natured ribbing. It could have been while he was telling tales of Lily as a little girl to a rapt audience of Jim and his siblings, or when they returned the favor with stories of the woman she became. Possibly, it was at some point during the friendly banter and conversation. Bucky stopped feeling like a stranger intruding on a random family's home, and started feeling like he was actually part of the family. It didn't fully sink in until he and Steve were going to bed, curling up their fully-grown, well-muscled bulk into a set of bunk beds meant for kids. The realization hit him, and he suddenly felt a tightness in his throat and wetness in his eyes. He tried to clear his throat but it came out sounding… odd.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asked, his disembodied voice floating down in the darkness.

"Yeah, I'm good," Bucky affirmed. "I never thought I'd see any of my family again, but… here we are."

"Yeah, here we are," Steve agreed. There was a note of sadness in his voice, and Bucky kicked himself for not thinking about how all of this might be affecting Steve. Steve had been an only child. There could be no family reunion or long-lost niblings to find. Bucky was the closest thing to family that he had.

"Hey, my family is your family, too. You know that, right, Steve?" he said. There was rustling on the bunk above him.

"Really?" Steve's voice was incredulous but didn't sound sad anymore. "Thanks, pal." There was a long silence, and at first Bucky thought maybe Steve had gone to sleep. But then he spoke again. "Does that mean I couldn't ask Veronica out?" Bucky laughed out loud.

"Veronica is a grown woman. I'll let her make her own choice on that one," he decided. "That is, if you actually work up the nerve to ask her." He heard Steve's soft self-deprecating laughter from above.

"I see how it is. Good night, Buck."

"Good night, Steve." With a sigh, Bucky rolled over and went to sleep, dreaming of contentment, family and home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed this fic! It was a lot of fun to write. Due to its popularity (and requests on another website), I do have a sequel planned. I really like this storyline and I want to follow Bucky a bit further. I'm not sure when I'll start posting that, but stay tuned!


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